Rabbits and Bathroom Breaks
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Collection of drabbles/ficlets/oneshots of the random variety. From dark to fluffy, from angst-y to humorous, any and all characters, non-slash pairings, and scenarios. #51-55 - Continuations of #49 (Realizing).
1. Sunny

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: I've been getting into drabble challenges lately on the Heart of Camelot site, and I thought it'd be fun to expand on that here...and to not only share those challenges with you but to take prompts as well. They will be as random as they come. :)

Speaking of random...I should explain the title of this collection. I seriously spent far too long wracking my brain for a title, and I finally settled on "Rabbits and Bathroom Breaks" because of the last two series' trailers of Merlin, which were both intensely dark trailers - so dark that it made the rather random humorous scenes in those trailers (the "peeing" scene and the "caught-in-a-net" scene) all the more funny to me. Since it's scenes like these that really show how "diverse" this show is and that balance out the darkness, the angst, and the drama, I thought it very fitting.

Please note that these aren't meant to be works of art. They're for giggles, and they give me a chance to experiment with stuff I wouldn't do on my own. Know that all of these ficlets will be kept within the 100-500 word range.

So...let us get started :D

* * *

Prompt: "Sunshine and Rainbows": write something cute that'll put a smile on our faces.

Characters: Merlin and Arthur.

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal fic.

Word Count: 340

* * *

**Sunny**

"You can't be serious."

His warlock's stormy eyes, half concealed by his dark blue cloak, hardened obstinately, and he folded his arms. If Arthur hadn't known Merlin, he might have been intimidated by the stubborn, determined stance. In fact, he had seen others—from the mightiest of sorcerers to the most rigid, stuffy of nobles—cower before it.

It must be the damn cloak. Arthur should never have given him it—not only did the idiot have an unhealthy love for it, but it made him far too confident about himself.

The King, blinking away the rainwater dripping from his hair into his eyes, saw Merlin's jaw clench from under the shadows of his cowl. "I am."

Arthur's voice rung with finality, and the exasperation was all too clear. "_No_, Merlin."

"And why not?" Merlin demanded.

Pursing his lips, the King's eyes shifted to Merlin's feet. "Because, _Mer_lin, I refuse have one of _those _in my castle."

The fluff-ball of black and white fur, which happened to be weaving its lanky body around Merlin's legs and _snuggling_ with him, stopped in its path and mewled reproachfully at him.

Merlin groaned. "C'mon, Arthur! Sunny won't—"

"_Sunny? _You did not name it!" Arthur hissed.

"_Her_," Merlin corrected, scooping up the bright-eyed kitten into his arms. "And yes, I know it's an unoriginal name, but honestly, it was all I could think of after this long week of damned _rain_."

"That thing's a menace! It almost made me impale myself on my own sword!"

Smirking, Merlin said, "And that's exactly why I want her."

Arthur glared at the cat, and as it, oblivious to the King's irritation, cocked its head toward him so far that it unintentionally flipped over onto it's back in Merlin's arms, the warlock, smiling goofily, laughed at it and tickled its belly.

"Please?" Merlin entreated childishly.

And _this _was the same man who had singlehandedly killed a basilisk last week?

"Fine," Arthur said, hiding a small smile, "An idiot cat for an even more idiotic master. How fitting."

* * *

AN: Hehehe, I know this's been done before, but I hope you liked it.

This'll be updated whenever an idea hits me or whenever I take to a certain prompt/challenge, so with that in mind, don't be afraid to leave me a prompt. :D You might actually get another one tonight... we'll see. ;P

Oz out


	2. Someone to Call Home

AN: Kept my promise. ;) I really wish I could write this one full-length *ponders*

* * *

Prompt: "The Young Pendragon": Write about a character meeting Arthur for the first time

Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Hunith, Gaius

Ratings/Warnings: Missing scene from 1x10.

Word Count: 410

* * *

**Someone to Call Home**

After Hunith had told Merlin, his usually carefree blue eyes trained on her with mature attentiveness and steadfastness, about Ealdor's plight, he nodded once, took her by the hand, and announced that he was taking her to Gaius' chambers to appeal to Arthur.

Her little rush of eager anticipation to meet the man, Prince, and master that her son so fondly complained about in his letters was eclipsed by her desperation and confusion as Merlin tugged her speedily along.

"Why Gaius' chambers?"

With a cheeky grin, Merlin responded cheerfully, "I'm late for work. He'll be waiting there with a hideous scowl on his face, ready to lay it on me. You'll see."

"You sound as if you _enjoy_ the prospect, Merlin," Hunith chided lightly, smiling knowingly.

His broadening grin was her only response.

Sure enough, when Merlin barged into the physician's chambers, Hunith was greeted by the sight of Gaius, who sat calmly reading amongst the mess of herbs, potions, and books, and a very irritable Arthur Pendragon, who was the very picture of intolerance and impatience with his folded arms, narrowed eyes, and tapping foot.

To Hunith, he was everything and nothing like she had imagined. She could easily see the arrogance that Merlin so often ranted about, but it was clear that there was something more. Something of a boy who grew up too fast and who had too much responsibility to bear. Something of a young man pure of heart and of one worth following.

But most striking of all—beyond all that and behind the irritation in his eyes, there was no mistaking the spark of humor and fondness as he looked upon her tardy, gangly son.

"_Mer_lin, you had better—!"

Stopping almost as abruptly as he started, Arthur blinked at Hunith and skipped his gaze between her face and Merlin's. "You two look awfully alike," he blurted.

Amused, her son said, "That's because she's my mother."

"Your…mother," the Prince repeated, looking a little overwhelmed and sheepish.

Never one for propriety, Merlin immediately launched into Ealdor's tale in a low, wavering voice that betrayed his own pain at the situation, and Hunith watched with swooping, hopeful heart as the relentless sapphire eyes softened with compassion at every word.

In that moment, Hunith not only knew that everything in Ealdor would be alright, but, seeing the two conversing side-by-side, she also knew that Merlin had finally found his purpose and something, someplace, _someone _to call home.


	3. In A Single Heartbeat

AN: I wasn't planning on getting another one up so quick, but I was feeling SO good. I'm back in the game for Heart of Gold, which has a chapter in the works (so far, it's about 500 words that're as dark as dark can be. Is it morbid that I'm having so much fun writing so dark?), and I had a personal victory today. I got my sister to read these ficlets (a feat in itself), and she actually _snickered _a few times during 'Sunny.' Yes, definitely a personal victory. So, here ya go!

* * *

Prompt: "Wish Fulfillment": Write something that you wish to happen in s5. Even if you don't know me well, you can probably guess _exactly _what's going to happen here. ;D

Characters: Merlin and Gwen

Ratings/Warnings:  Inspired by a short scene from the s5 trailer, Gwen!WHUMP

Word Count: 400

* * *

_In a single heartbeat, your whole world can change._

* * *

**In A Single Heartbeat**

When the lock on her door rattled, Gwen, weak and trembling from her long captivity and the abuse of Morgana's enchantment, shrank away and cried out as another wave of pain—pain so powerful it felt as though her brain was using itself as a battering ram to crash through her skull—racked her.

The attack passed and left her gasping, and after she vaguely heard the familiar timbre of a wisecrack, the guffawing guards pushed a stumbling someone in. The kneeling Queen, her hair in tangles and dress tattered, hugged her chest tighter and gathered her strength as she slowly looked from under her eyelashes with blurred, teary vision…

Hope and then fear crashed down upon her, and she, shaking her head, croaked, "No, not you too."

"It'll be alright, Gwen. I'm here to get you out."

His voice was like a warm blanket, an embrace, a breath of fresh air… He shouldn't—he _couldn't _be here. Merlin, her selfless friend…

_How'd it come to this?_

Despite how nauseous she felt from the Dark magic, Gwen managed a humorless chuckle and asked desperately, "And how do you propose to do that when you've gotten yourself captured by _her_?"

"All part of the plan, Gwen."

_He's absolutely mad_. _Absolutely mad_.

"Gwen, there's not much time," Merlin said, his blue eyes boring into hers. "I would have waited for Arthur and the Knights, but I've only just realized how little time you have. We would've been too late. By then you would've succumbed to the curse."

Head spinning and panting, she opened her mouth, but another attack hit her. A whimper escaped her lips, and her shaking fingers wove their way into her hair as tears poured down her face...

Merlin's cool thumb pressed against her forehead, and beyond the sound of her own cries, she could only just make out the sound of him growling incomprehensibly under his breath.

The heavy weight pressing against her mind suddenly lifted, leaving her breathing easier, thinking clearer, and _free_… completely _free._

Dazed with relief and exhilarated at her liberation, Gwen was not fully aware of what happened until she looked up to share the moment with Merlin…

Whose deep, determined eyes lingered with the gold of magic.

Her best friend, without hesitation or qualm, held out his hand. "Do you trust me?"

And after a heartbeat of awed silence, she took his hand.

* * *

AN: It's gonna happen. Just watch. ;P

Oz out.


	4. Never Cease to Amaze

AN: This _was _supposed to be my first attempt at semi-crack. I failed. Miserably. It's more like a bromance-angst-and-then-an-all-of a-sudden let's-subtly-poke-fun-and-try-far-too-hard-to-be-funny-before-finishing-off-with-a-very-very-cheesy-cute-line fic. ;D Yeah, it makes no sense. Just roll with it.

* * *

Prompt: There isn't one.

Characters: Merlin and Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: AU 4x06. Beware… This is SO bad. I probably just spoiled this amazing bromance scene. Flame away! It deserves some flames.

Word Count: 547

* * *

**Never Cease to Amaze**

It would never cease to amaze Arthur at how well Merlin could hide pain.

And this was certainly a _hell _of a painful wound.

When he had lifted Merlin's shirt to evaluate the wound and saw Merlin's dusky cerulean eyes lower to it before carefully lifting back to his, there was hardly a trace of pain there. In fact, Merlin didn't even flinch at the sight of the mangled flesh. There was only a cautious concern, and the idiot looked for all the world as though he was worried about _him_…and not even about himself.

Then, Merlin had joked and grinned as though he _wasn't _spilling his life-blood all over the forest floor and as though his breathing _was _as strong and rhythmic as it should have been had he been in perfect health and as though his eyes _weren't _fluttering in his attempt to stay conscious.

Idiot. Selfless, selfless idiot.

"You have a very good servant," Merlin teased with a breathless laugh.

It was only then that said servant showed any amount of pain, and cutting off his chuckle, he averted his eyes to hide a weakening in his mask.

Seeing him struggle for composure, Arthur, whose heart and sapphire eyes softened, saw an opportunity to _prove _that he was worthy of this incredible friend and that…everything would be alright, agreed wholeheartedly, "You're right. I do."

Merlin, with a slightly pinched brow at his King's openness and sincere, grateful tone of voice, raised his eyes.

"A servant who's extremely brave. And incredibly loyal, to be honest. Not at all cowardly."

His servant stared poignantly at him with shining, awed eyes for a few moments before the King, having said what needed to be said, having the need to say more, and really having had enough of the touchy-feely moment, felt a devious grin spread across his face.

"And completely _stu_pid!" Arthur added in a drawl.

Of course, the King couldn't help but feel a very animalistic and merciless satisfaction as Merlin, confusion clear in his eyes, blinked and blanched.

"Merlin, _heal _yourself already! I know you can, so why the hell torture yourself like this?" he demanded.

Those eyes widened to the size of saucers, and it was rather comical to see him, stunned and panicking, blubber and splutter for words.

Perhaps he should be more sympathetic? After all, it wasn't every day that your King told you he knew about your illegal magic…

That thought was gone when all that Merlin managed after an impressive display of gaping was an oh-so-witty whisper of "_what_?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Merlin," he said slowly. "Bloody heal yourself, or I will manage to find a way to resurrect you after you bleed to death—because I honestly don't think we can make it back to Camelot in time with these bandits scurrying around and you and I both know that that wound's no stubbed toe—and kill you again myself. I'd really rather have you alive, you know."

"You—You don't…You want me to—You're giving me permission—?" Merlin stuttered in a daze.

"Yes, Merlin," he said in a considerably gentler voice.

After Merlin studied him for a moment longer in silence, his eyes, gathering with emotional tears, flared gold…

It would never cease to amaze Arthur.

* * *

AN: This was terrible, but since it was a fun experiment, I decided to share my efforts anyway. :)

To my HG fans - it's coming along nicely. A new chapter should be up by next week.


	5. Blindfold

AN: I blame my siblings for this one... I know the idea's been done before, but I couldn't help myself. ;D

* * *

Prompt: "Interesting Use For A Scarf"

Characters: Merlin and Arthur… mostly. ;)

Ratings/Warnings: Beware the usual cheese.

Word Count: 496

* * *

**Blindfold**

While, to Merlin's eyes, there was nothing visibly wrong, something was _very_ wrong.

Ironically enough, it was the _nothing _that made something wrong at all.

It was too quiet, too calm… it was grating on Merlin's nerves, sending ominous chills down his spine, making him restless and making him feel the need to send suspicious glances over his shoulders every so often.

And then there was the fact that Arthur was _up _before Merlin had to drag him out of bed and that, instead of the usual _long, specific _list that was often accompanied by a thrown apple or goblet, his King's orders for the morning were simple.

"Go do your chores, Merlin," Arthur had said with a relaxed smile and dancing sapphire eyes.

At first, Merlin hadn't believed him and had even asked him if he was feeling alright, but in the end, confused, the servant was sent on his way to 'do his chores,' which, for the most part, he had completed the night before.

Then, to make things even _stranger_, not even Gaius had any errands for him when he, desperate enough for something to do, had asked.

After Merlin had taken to aimless wandering and found not a trace of _anyone_—Arthur had just went up and _disappeared_, the prat—he, grumbling and stomping in aggravation and boredom, began mindlessly scrubbing the already pristine floors, and that was where Arthur found him _hours_ later.

"There you are, Merlin!" he exclaimed happily. "I have something to show you."

"Where have you been all day?" Merlin demanded irritably, scrambling up from his knees.

Not intimidated in the slightest by Merlin's bad temper, Arthur smirked at him and rolled his eyes, and grabbing his servant by the arm, he impatiently dragged Merlin to him and said, "C'm'ere."

"Arthur, what—"

The King looked around his room with unreadable eyes before his gaze locked onto Merlin's neckerchief. "Perfect," he said, pulling it off.

"Hey!"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur responded, taking the neckerchief in both hands. With a circular motion of the wrists, he rolled the scarf into a thin blindfold, and ignoring Merlin's protests, he tied it deftly around his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Merlin asked, squinting reflexively.

Arthur, placing his hands on Merlin's back, wheeled him around and said, "Trust me."

After a few minutes of disorienting blindness, stumbling, and persistent questioning, Merlin heard Arthur open and close a door, and after turning Merlin in a half-circle, they abruptly stopped.

Before Merlin could open his mouth, Arthur gently pressed something into his hands and tore off the blindfold.

It was a piece of parchment, and after quirking an eyebrow at Arthur, who was waiting expectantly, he opened the slip of paper.

In Arthur's sprawling hand…two words.

_I know_.

Before Merlin could even absorb the heart-stopping words and their significance, Arthur's arm draped over his shoulders, and he was spun around to see his mother, Gwen, the Knights… smiling, beaming…

"Happy birthday, Merlin."

* * *

AN: It's my birthday next Friday, so my siblings have been driving me nuts with their subtle hints at the gift they've gotten me, which is apparently enough to make me run screaming out of the room. *is impatient*

:D Oz out.


	6. Hardly Simple

AN: I thank anonymous promptidea for my first prompt. :)

* * *

Prompt: "Flashback to Merlin's childhood mixed in with 'present day' (of the show) to see which job was harder: farmhand or being Arthur's servant/protector."

Characters: Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Set during s3

Word Count: 452

* * *

**Hardly Simple**

Ever since Merlin had been old enough to lift a shovel, he had toiled away in the fields of Ealdor. Even before then, he, being mature and responsible for his age, would take up as many jobs—jobs as simple as finding bait for the fishermen (1) or fetching water for other villagers and farmers—as he possibly could.

He had not known any different, of course, but after coming to Camelot, he realized just how poor and rough life was in his home village. In the summer, it was laughter and work and play and berry-picking and work and swimming and work. Summer—even though the heat crept on them, bringing droughts and swarms of crop-smothering bugs in its wake—Summer was bearable.

But the winters… While brutal winds, killing their fires, their elderly, and their children, seemed to seep through every crack of their houses and send them scrambling for every spare bit of cloth, food became short, and Merlin remembered going days without food and his mother, despite his protests, going even _longer_ when things were really scarce so that _he _could eat.

They might have been family, and they might have worked together for the benefit of everyone, but it was still hard.

Merlin's aches drew him out of his reminiscing, and wrinkling his nose and releasing a groan, he, covered with horse dung and sweat, stomped out of the stables.

_Why _the prat wanted him to muck out the stables at this time of night was _beyond _him.

All he did was _chuckle _when the Prince, who was trying to take off his belt and wasn't watching where he was going, walked directly into one of his bedposts (2).

It really wasn't fair—Arthur seemed to have _no_ problems laughing at _him _when he did something particularly clumsy—but no! Apparently chuckling in the Prince's presence was worthy of a late night trip to the stables.

What an arrogant, completely—!

Merlin was so caught up in his ranting that he almost missed catching sight of a familiar red cloak and black curls.

As he gasped quietly in surprise—he had not expected anyone to be in the servant's passage this late—shrank back into the shadows, and watched Morgana Pendragon slip past with a suspicious smirk on her face, his ranting stopped immediately, and his stormy blue eyes lost their playful exasperation and morphed into hard gems of astute vigilance and determination.

Resolved to follow the traitor, who was no doubt plotting against Camelot and Arthur…_again_, and to receive absolutely no recognition for his efforts, Merlin, the underappreciated servant and unsung protector, slinked stealthily after her and sighed to himself, _Things really _were_ simpler in Ealdor_.

* * *

(1) Inspired by Wilson Rawls' "Where the Red Fern Grows."

(2) Inspired by one of my own life's tales - I walked into a cement pole at the pool the other day. ;D

AN: I hope you liked this, promptidea, and I hope I nailed the irony. :D


	7. The Desperation of a King

Prompt: "The Chains That Bind Us:" Write about a character metaphorically imprisoned by a circumstance/situation or literally bound in chains. I took the latter route. ;)

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal.

Word Count: 465

* * *

**The Desperation of a King**

"I hope you know that this is absolutely ridic—"

"You're going to tell me what you know."

"No, actually, I don't think I will, thanks."

The King's blazing eyes narrowed murderously at his prisoner's insolent tone and cheeky, lopsided smile, and folding his arms across his chest, he glared with all his might.

Of course, the prisoner found it more amusing than anything, and with an eye roll, Merlin shrugged his shoulders in an impish manner and jostled the magic-restraining chains that _he _had made for Arthur under the assumption that they'd be used for those arrested for practicing Dark magic—but no, instead, the prat found it fit to use them on his Court Sorcerer whenever he damn well wanted to (Merlin'd live to regret it for many years to come, he was sure…unless he enlisted Gwaine's help in hiding or destroying them…).

"Was it really necessary to chain me to your _bedpost, _Arthur?"

Allowing a small smirk to grace his face, Arthur said menacingly, "I'm not letting you go until you tell me."

"And I'm not going to tell you, so I hope that you're ready for a _long _night," Merlin said, a diabolical smile creeping onto his lips.

Arthur's eyes widened comically at his warlock's line of thought—he wouldn't get sleep at _all _with the annoying _blathering_ he would have to endure—but then, aggravated, he pounded his fist on the table.

"Dammit, Merlin! I'm concerned for her! Don't you think I have a right—?"

"ARTHUR PENDRAGON!"

The mighty King of Camelot cringed at his wife's tone, and he yelped, "It's not what it looks like!"

Gwen, who had just stumbled in upon the sight of her husband towering over her chained best friend, stomped over to them, said in a deadly quiet tone, "Then what do _you _think it looks like? Because it certainly looks to me like you've chained your Court Sorcerer to our bed."

Arthur bowed his head and mumbled something about idiotic, secret-keeping sorcerers and moody wives before saying, "Fine. Fine. I lost my temper when he wouldn't tell me, and since you seemed so upset, I just didn't want—"

"Upset?" Gwen asked, and after exchanging a loaded look with Merlin, she laughed suddenly, "Is _that _what this was about?"

Merlin nodded.

Gwen closed her eyes, and after taking a shaky breath, she said, "I really didn't want to tell you like _this—"_

"Tell me what?" Arthur interrupted, fear lacing his words at her tone.

Gwen smiled knowingly and finished. "But I really should have expected it."

Arthur looked between Gwen and Merlin, and he looked so confused, the two of them couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Arthur," Gwen said, taking his hand and looking directly into his sapphire eyes, "I'm pregnant."

* * *

AN: Bedposts seem to be very handy humor devises... who knew? ;P


	8. Not So Different After All

AN: This was meant to be up _hours _ago. :P Oops. This is for Bibliophile109, everyone.

* * *

Prompt: "Arthur and Merlin are friends, no matter how much they deny it. But they come from such different backgrounds—I'd like to see Arthur think about what he saw in S1E10 and ask Merlin more about how he grew up. Maybe Merlin can ask about what it was like to grow up as a prince?"

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Missing scene in 1x10; language

Word Count: 1,032 (*winces* A _smidge _over my set 500 word limit... ;D)

* * *

**Not So Different After All**

With a furrowed brow, Prince Arthur watched as Merlin dropped a stack of pitchforks to the ground and as Mathew gave him a fleeting smile before picking one of them up.

It was only Arthur's second day in Ealdor, but in even that short amount of time, Arthur had noticed something off about the atmosphere.

Merlin seemed as cheerful as ever, but sometimes, Arthur caught a lingering, resigned sadness in his stormy eyes. His impish features, as well, would become shadowed with bittersweet smiles that hardly reached his eyes in the presence of anyone but Will, Hunith, and his Camelotian friends. The villagers themselves, with the exception of a few, seemed to go out of their way to…_avoid _him and seemed to always avert their gazes if his eyes met theirs, or, in most cases, they looked _straight through_ him, and after watching closely, Arthur noticed that Merlin, too, unconsciously moved like a living ghost between them, interacting with his people but very obviously not _belonging_.

_I just didn't fit in anymore_, Merlin had said the night before.

By the looks of things, Merlin had _never _fit in, and after seeing how easily Merlin had become an undeniable part—a part Arthur could not imagine being without—of Camelot, it bothered the Prince more than he could say.

"You alright?" Merlin asked as he loped to Arthur.

Arthur started before smiling wryly. "I might ask you the same question."

With confused eyes, Merlin cocked his head. "Why?"

Pursing his lips, Arthur came to a decision, grabbed his servant's sleeve, and asked, "Can I…talk to you?"

After Merlin blinked in astonishment and nodded, Arthur led him to a private place behind Hunith's house, which was a short distance away.

"What's this about? Is it about the men? The training?"

Awkwardly, Arthur shuffled his feet, and hiding his flush and pushing away his pride, he said, "No, Merlin. It's about—It's about you."

Merlin frowned, and a raw emotion Arthur couldn't name flashed through his eyes. "Oh?"

He swallowed. "I'm probably overstepping my boundaries, and I can't _order _you to tell me—"

"Well, that's news to me," Merlin muttered with dancing eyes.

A small scowl worked its way onto Arthur's face, and he continued, "I'm a fool to have taken so long to notice, Merlin. The villagers—they…" Words failed him, and he blurted, "You're not comfortable here."

It wasn't a question.

Merlin's face crumbled, and he sighed, taking a seat on a haystack and holding his head in his hands.

Arthur, immediately feeling a rush of sympathy and affection for his servant, sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, not quite understanding. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," Merlin said strongly, locking his profound, glowing eyes with Arthur's. "You would have heard sometime, and I would rather you hear it from me than from anyone else."

Arthur was silent, and after a hint of shame and pain washed over his features and after his eyes begged his master not to think any differently of him, he said bluntly, "I'm the village bastard, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened, and before he could open his mouth to speak, Merlin looked out toward the villagers beginning to congregate for training and said quietly, "I never knew my father. My mother doesn't speak of him, and no one—well, I think some might know the truth, but it makes no difference, really—no one seems to know who he might have been."

Merlin's voice cracked, and he said shakily, "You know how simple folk like us view such things and how superstitious they—" Arthur did not miss the unintentional switch from 'us' to 'they' "—are, and you know how bad luck seems to stalk my very footsteps." A hint of a humorous smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and he continued, "Since they don't know who could've possibly been my sire and since I haven't always been the most…_normal _of children and since weird things always happened around me…what else could they think but that my father came to my mother as a demon disguised as a man?"

Arthur sat stunned. How—how could he have not known that Merlin… He had assumed that Merlin's father had died as Will's had, but no, Merlin, too, understood the pain of being without one parent.

_We truly have more in common than I ever would have expected_, he mused.

He knew better than to believe that Merlin's father was a demon, and from the resolute look in Merlin's eyes, _he_ knew better too.

And that was what truly mattered.

A warm sensation of pride and awe tugged at Arthur's heart as he looked upon Merlin, who, to have such belief even when surrounded by people who shunned him, was stronger than he could've ever believed.

Merlin was watching his face carefully, and Arthur, smiling, squeezed his servant's bony shoulder. "It must have been lonely," Arthur muttered finally, a pang rippling through his heart.

Merlin shrugged, and with a lopsided smile, he said gently, "Not any more lonely than growing up as sole heir to the throne."

Looking into his supposedly idiotic servant's clear, deep eyes, it didn't surprise Arthur, who had to learn to distance himself from others to prevent them from using him, who had to be wary of lies and false loyalty, who hardly had any true friends until Merlin, with his cheeky grin and insolent tongue, stumbled into his life, who had never had anyone to challenge him, to question him, or to guide him, who had few people that he could trust with his innermost thoughts and desires, that Merlin could read between the words and see _all _that.

The two, who had yet to realize that they had just strengthened and intensified their timeless, destined bond, shared a smile, and their eyes, blue on blue, conveyed their gratitude towards the other for sharing a similar childhood and understanding.

"It doesn't matter so much, Arthur," Merlin said. "I'm not that lonely anymore."

After a moment of silence, Arthur slugged him affectionately on the shoulder. "It seems, Merlin, we're not so different after all."

* * *

AN: :D Hope that you've liked the angst and bromance! :P


	9. I Will Follow

AN: I wasn't planning on updating this until after I finished a new chapter of Only Friend, but it jumped on me during my 6-hour lifeguarding shift and _needed_ to get out. MF and Titan16, your prompts will be in consideration next, I promise. :)

Real quick shout out to Potato Fairy: I always get so upset when I can't pm you (your pm messenger is disabled), so I want to thank you so much for every review you've given me here and in other fics. :D Yes, I did indeed run into a cement pole, and I'm glad to have made you laugh. ;)

* * *

Prompt: "A Beautiful Character:" Choose the character you love the most, then write a drabble that captures the essence of why they appeal to you so much.

Characters: Merlin, Gwaine, Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Twist on a well-known legend and... *bites lip* I'm sorry.

Word Count: 602

* * *

**I Will Follow**

Under the darkening, crimson sky, Merlin, leaning heavily on his staff and ignoring the blood soaking through the hem of his cloak, the stench and sounds of death poisoning the air, and the carnage and the now ownerless weapons and armor littering the expansive field, strode straight-backed through the destroyed battleground.

The men of Camelot who had survived the final battle with the Saxons had stabbed their swords into the ground, and lowering themselves onto one knee and gripping their hilts, they bowed their heads and were respectfully silent as their warlock, Merlin Emrys, made his way to the fallen King.

To where he belonged.

Tears blurred Merlin's eyes as he reached Arthur, and after he, throwing his staff aside, knelt directly at the King's side, he gently threaded his fingers through Arthur's greying fair hair and kissed his aged brow. "You prat," he teased affectionately on a shaky exhale. "My friend…"

"Merlin."

Merlin turned to see Gwaine, who had hardly changed with the years, standing beside the Knights of the Round Table. His brown eyes were filled to the brim with unshed tears and pain, and his voice cracked as he whispered hoarsely, "Don't."

The warlock, whose raven hair was going grey around the temples and who was no longer as lithe as he used to be, flickered his gaze from Gwaine to Arthur, and after raising his glowing, stormy blue eyes, which were as lively as they had been in his youth, back to the Knight, Merlin, with an impish, apologetic smile, said strongly, "He is my King."

And that was all the explanation needed.

Gwaine's lower lip trembled, and even though his eyes shone with understanding, his face crumpled as he nodded once.

Merlin's smiling eyes passed over the faces of his friends in a last farewell, and tilting his chin to the heavens, he closed them.

His Destiny was complete, the Emrys and the Once and Future King's legend would sing throughout the ages, and all that remained…

For, as he had told Arthur on the fateful day that he revealed his magic to him, _I will follow you…to the ends of the earth_…

"And beyond," Merlin whispered, allowing the power and significance of the promise—a promise he had never broken and a promise he, with all his soul, had lived by—fill within him, calling upon the sea of magic flowing through him…

His eyes, now flooded with radiant gold, flew open, and in the scarlet-black sky, a blazing trail….growing, growing… Wings spreading, toothy jaws widening, spike-encrusted head raising proudly, its slanted eyes burning with the gold of Merlin's own magic…

The dragon of the star-fire descended upon Merlin and Arthur, and the creature bowed its head low to Emrys and the King, who was still wrapped in his warlock's embrace.

He did not look back, but everyone knew…their warlock's tear-stained face had just broken into a smile.

Before the eyes of the awestruck warriors and future of Camelot, the blazing dragon tenderly wrapped its fiery wings about the pair, and from within the gorgeous shield of fire, Arthur's chest rose suddenly, and he blinked his sapphire blue eyes open for the briefest moment to latch upon Merlin's for the final time in this world.

"I will follow," Merlin whispered loyally.

Arthur's pale lips twitched into a knowing smile, and he breathed, "We have done well, my friend."

And it was so that the prat and idiot, the Prince and manservant, the King and warlock, Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys, two sides of the same coin, disappeared when the dragon-comet took to the skies once more.

* * *

AN: I want to thank peacelight24, who I've recently just had a conversation about death-fics with, and Ocean Mint Leaves, who had not only suggested that I listen to 'War' by Poets of the Fall (which helped me get through this like no other) but who also has written the most incredible and touching death-fic (the epilogue to 'Two Sides of the Same Coin') I've EVER seen. You, Ocean, are the reason I've even attempted this, and I'd be happy if it was even a itty-bitty fraction as amazing as yours. For as short as it is, it probably can't even begin to compare. :')


	10. Nevermore

AN: This is for Merlinfanatic77. I hope you like!

* * *

Prompt: "Morgana's thoughts when Merlin poisoned her." -Kinda drifted off this... but I like what I've come up with. ;)

Characters: Morgana

Ratings/Warnings: Evil/kinda-sorta-regretful!Morgana looking back on her past thoughts as starting-to-become-evil!Morgana; very, very, _very _small pinch of Mergana.

Word Count: 201

* * *

**Nevermore**

"You're a good friend."

Years later, Morgana would remember the sincerity in which she said this to her mortal enemy, the ever annoying thorn in her side, and would either become absolutely sick to her stomach or… she'd laugh at the complete _irony _of it all.

But, at that moment when she took the water-skin from him, Morgana had felt nothing but gratitude that she did have a friend as good, compassionate, loyal, and considerate as him.

"Thank you."

Immediately upon taking a sip of the slightly acrid water, her throat had seized up, and it had felt as though her lungs where blazing in an inferno of flames…

He turned to her with tears in his beautiful, captivating blue eyes, and when he nodded once, all she could do was stare and ask through her own frightened gaze:

_How could you?_

Had he never betrayed her friendship and trust, had she never been stupid enough to look upon those kind blue eyes and see the bravery, the humor, and the willfulness, had he never poisoned her, things might have been different…

But, no, they could never have been anything more.

Not when she and he were destined to be enemies.


	11. Anything But the Tavern

AN: Another one for Merlinfanatic77.

* * *

Prompt: "Arthur goes to the tavern and asks where Merlin is."

Characters: Arthur, Evoric (the innkeeper of the Rising Sun Inn and Tavern from 3x09)

Ratings/Warnings: Told from Evoric's POV.

Word Count: 381

* * *

**Anything But the Tavern**

"MERLIN!"

The chattering, gossipy patrons of the tavern either jolted in surprise at the obnoxious volume of the indignant roar, rolled their eyes in exasperated fondness and smiled over the lip of their tankards, whispered excitedly, or hurriedly swept away their gambling money off the tables and tried far too hard to look innocent as their King, following his bellow, came barging unceremoniously into the humble, dingy tavern.

The King, his blazing sapphire eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring, swept his gaze about the tavern-goers, and snarling an inappropriate cuss under his breath, he stomped to the innkeeper's bar and demanded, "Evoric, have you seen my lazy excuse for a manservant hereabouts?"

The bald man's brow crinkled, and he said, "Not at all, Sire."

The King looked slightly bemused for a moment, but then he leaned over the table and asked suspiciously, "You sure he's not drunk and passed out behind the guests' stables?"

Evoric, who had, as many of the Lower townsfolk, become quite fond of the wayward, scrawny servant, shook his head, continued wiping down the counter, and snorted gruffly, _"Mer_lin? _Drunk_?"

A strange look passed the King's face. "Are you telling me," he asked slowly, his voice tight, "that Merlin hasn't ever come here to spend full _days_...?"

Evoric's eyebrow cocked, and he said confusedly, "Never, Sire. The only time I ever see him around here is with Gaius when there's an ill guest or when he's helping me out by dragging Sir Gwaine home after a long night."

The King of Camelot blinked, and Evoric, becoming a little concerned when the King did not respond and stood silently for a longer period of time than was normal, asked warily, "Why are you searching for Merlin? Is he in some kind of trouble, My Lord?"

King Arthur suddenly released a bark of giddy laughter, and he smirked, "Oh, don't you worry, Evoric, he is in _plenty _of trouble."

Evoric, flinching at the tone of voice and the devious gleam in King's eyes, said to himself sympathetically, _I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, lad_. _Good luck with that one_.

Spinning on his heel, Arthur stormed out, and Evoric heard him mutter, "Now I don't only have a manservant to hunt down but a deceptive physician to speak with."

* * *

AN: Seriously, Arthur, _why _have you never done this before? *shakes head* Silly King, you.


	12. Arrogance

AN: Three in a row! *fist-pump* Here's your last request, MF! :D

* * *

Prompt: "Gwen's thoughts about Arthur before Merlin comes/during the first season." –Got a little sidetracked on this one, too, MF. ;P I hope you still like it!

Characters: Gwen and Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Characters age 13-ish. And… an OC who might be a familiar face to some of you. ;P

Word Count: 415

* * *

**Arrogance**

Walking through the courtyard at noon was something most maids her age and her size avoided like the plague.

However, today, as it was Morgana's birthday, there was no way it _could _be avoided, and as she trudged through the bustling, loud square with a heavy, overflowing load of her mistress's laundry and maneuvered through the excitable crowd of visiting nobles, rushing servants, and ambling folk, she took care to avoid getting the basket bumped or jostled by others.

Unfortunately, not everyone took care to avoid _her._

A boy dashed past her and, having tried to avoid both her and another noble, he forcibly hit her arm, and with a startled, pained yelp, Gwen was nearly knocked off her feet, and a few articles of clothing nearly fell from the top of the pile.

Shifting the heavy load of laundry onto her other hip, an irritated Guinevere, who was not one to easily lose her temper, sighed wearily, and blew a strand of hair out of her face, and when she turned to face the offender, she started to scold, "Hey, watch where you're—"

Upon recognizing the boy, Guinevere pursed her lips and inclined her head docilely.

"Who do you think you are?" Kay, son of Sir Ector, one of Prince Arthur's greatest friends, and otherwise known to her (as were most, if not all, of the other noble children _and_ some of their parents) as an arrogant pig, sneered disdainfully. "Speaking to me like that after so rudely running into me? I should teach you some manners!"

As he raised his hand as if to slap her, Gwen, despite herself, flinched away from the older boy, but his hand was caught from behind.

"Stop, Kay," Prince Arthur commanded with hard sapphire eyes.

The ginger-haired noble looked to his Prince, who was now surveying her for injuries with kind eyes, and flashing her a glare and curling his lip, he stood down.

_Perhaps_, Gwen thought gratefully as she smiled gently at the golden Prince, _not all nobles are so bad…_

A change, however, came over Arthur as Kay muttered something in his ear, and the compassion in his sky blue eyes disappeared as a smirk took place of the shy smile that had been twitching at his lips.

"C'mon, Kay," Arthur said in a lofty and mocking voice. "She's not worth the trouble anyway."

Gwen's smile dropped from her face, and she narrowed her brown eyes as the two, laughing, strolled away.

_Arrogant. Pig._

* * *

AN_: _Titan16, your prompt's not been forgotten, and it will be up sometime this week. :)


	13. You Learn Something New Everyday

AN: For Titan16. :)

* * *

Prompt: "Could you do one where Merlin can't read and/or do math, and Arthur finds out?" –Probably not _exactly _what you wanted, Titan16, but I hope you like. ^^

Characters:  Arthur and Merlin, mostly. There's a surprise POV change at the end that I felt the desperate need to add.

Ratings/Warnings: Set s1, and I'm not sure… Did people in the time of Arthurian legend use the Arabic numerals or Roman numerals? *shrugs* I'm assuming Arabic here, so just nod and agree with me. At least for this drabble. ;)

Word Count: 578

* * *

**You Learn Something New Everyday**

Holding his throbbing head, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, and then, in a completely undignified way, he let his head drop onto the piles upon piles of paperwork that he'd left uncompleted that week.

On top of the massive pile: tax reports.

His father was _not _going to be happy for his procrastination.

But, in all fairness, there had been the tourney and then the Afanc, Bayard's visit, and Merlin's poisoning…

Speak of the devil. The Prince could _feel _the broad grin that the idiot, who was _supposed _to be quietly changing his bedclothes and who was instead reveling in his master's apparent misery, had unwisely decided to send at the back of his head.

"What the hell are you smirking at, _Mer_lin?" Arthur demanded without lifting his head.

Merlin spluttered and protested incredulously, "You couldn't even _see_—"

Arthur picked up his golden head to glower at his servant. "I'm not stupid, Merlin."

Under his breath, the younger, raven-haired boy muttered under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like, "I beg to differ."

"Would _you _like to try making sense of this?" Arthur demanded, gesturing wildly to the mess before him.

Rolling his eyes and smiling, Merlin paced around the bed and took the top sheet from Arthur.

After scanning his clear stormy blue eyes across the sheet, a furrow appeared in his brow, and he cocked his head.

The Prince, smug at Merlin's confusion, was about to taunt the boy, but he cut himself off when a flush of embarrassment colored Merlin's cheeks.

"Arthur," Merlin asked with a sheepish curiosity, "what characters are these?"

He placed the parchment down and pointed to a simple number '7' as an example.

The Prince stared at his servant. Despite what Arthur might say, he knew that Merlin was rather intelligent—so intelligent, in fact, that he often completely forgot about his upbringing as a peasant, and he recalled that he had been pleasantly surprised when Merlin had proved that he could read, a skill that not many peasants ever learned.

The servant's blush, instead of deepening in shame, _disappeared _under Arthur's stare, and he, with an eager, enthralled glint in his eye, looked over the numerals.

The servant once told him that he was a fast learner—he had proved it, too, just as he had proved his courage—but never before had he realized that Merlin took such a _joy _in learning.

"You never learned your numbers?"

Merlin shook his head. "No. My mother taught me my letters, and I learned to read and write, but those—"

Feeling a strange burst of warmth in his breast at his servant's excitement, Arthur smiled and said, "Pull up a chair. I'll show you."

When Merlin seemed to return to himself and stared at the Prince in disbelief, Arthur defended himself quickly, "I can't have my servant _not _know his numbers. Come on."

When Uther walked in less than an hour later, he found the pair of them huddled over Arthur's desk, and he about to reprimand his son, who had yet to realize that he was standing in his doorway, for getting so distracted from his work and for being so…_friendly_ with his _servant_ when the boy of Gaius' said something that made his son toss back his head and laugh.

A genuine laugh. The first that Uther had heard in a _long _time.

As Arthur gently punched the wiry servant on the arm, Uther silently backed out of the room.


	14. Two Suns in the Sky

AN: This one's for Impulse53699. I hope it gets a few chuckles from you all. ;D

* * *

Prompt: "A Gwaine drunken rambles / wanderings should be funny."

Characters: Gwaine and Merlin… very brief Gwen and Gaius.

Ratings/Warnings: Set mere days after the end of s3. Very distantly connected with my "Anything But the Tavern" drabble. Oh, and having never been drunk before… or been exposed to many crazy drunk people, this might be odd. I just had fun and hoped it sounded like drunken nonsense. ;P Definite POV change.

Word Count: 735

* * *

**Two Suns In the Sky**

"Merlin?" Gwen asked tentatively, peeking her head into Gaius' chambers.

The warlock, who sat eating his dinner with Gaius, leaned backwards to see Gwen, who had a small apologetic smile on her face.

"_Again_?" Merlin asked with a groan.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. But Evoric is getting upset, and you're the only one—"

Merlin sighed, shot Gaius a look that could be both described as fond and irritated, and stood, complaining, "Arthur's going to be _furious _if Gwaine comes to the practice fields tomorrow as drunk as a sailor again."

"I don't see how it's your problem, Merlin," Gaius said. "Gwaine's—"

"Arthur takes it out on _me_. Trust me, Gaius." Turning to Gwen, he said, "I'll go fetch him and make sure he makes it home."

Gwen smiled sweetly at him, and after brushing his arm gratefully, she said, "Thank you."

Once she left, Merlin shrugged on his shabby jacket and sighed jokingly to Gaius, "At least Gwaine's an amusing drunk. Otherwise, I'd be far more irritated that this is becoming a nightly event."

Gaius laughed, and grinning, Merlin disappeared out the door and trotted to the tavern, where he knew he would find a wayward, rogue Knight making a mess of things.

~…~

"Hey, hey," Gwaine whooped to a serving girl, standing rather unintelligently and ungracefully on his chair. "Another round here!"

The guffaws of his new tavern friends and the clinks of tankards buzzed pleasantly in his ears, and he, stumbling upon seeing a friendly face walking into the crowded tavern, nearly fell from his perch on the chair.

"_Mur_lin, mate!" he slurred. "C'mon and join us!"

When he, giggling, tripped forward, Merlin caught him with surprising strength, and he, blinking up into Merlin's amused blue eyes, whispered huskily into his ear, "Merlin, guess what?"

"What, Gwaine?"

Gwaine regained his balance and hung one arm heavily around Merlin's bony shoulders. "See that man there? He was tellin' me he tried to tame a baby wyvern. Bit his hand clean off, you see! Look! And—"

"Gwaine, he has both his hands."

The Knight squinted at the man's limbs and saw that his observant friend was quite correct, and he gasped loudly, "It must have grown back! _Sorcery!_"

Everyone turned around to stare, but Merlin laughed, "Gwaine, I think you've had enough to drink for tonight."

He frowned, and as the words finally registered in his head and as he realized that Merlin was dragging him _away _from the lovely people and tankards of warm, tickly, bubbly ale—when did they get outside?—he whined childishly, "_No_! I wasn't done!"

"Gwaine," Merlin began.

A stroke of brilliance struck Gwaine, and he allowed himself to go absolutely limp and crumpled to the ground.

"Gwaine!" Merlin chastised. "Get up!"

"Shan't," the drunk muttered as he stared up at the spiraling, spinning, swimming stars. "The stars…so pretty… Look, mate!"

"I don't have time for this," Merlin grumbled, bending over to lug Gwaine upright. "Gods, Gwaine, what have you been _eating_?"

"Hey!" Gwaine protested, swatting Merlin's arm away and trying to get up himself to take a swing at him.

But, then again, the ground seemed a lot more comfortable anyway, didn't it?

When his legs gave out again and eyes fluttered closed, Merlin threw up his hands, and Gwaine heard his exasperated sigh echoing in his ears from far, far away.

Suddenly, the Knight felt lighter than air—he was _flying_! What an incredible dream!—and a rush of warmth traveled along his body that was completely foreign from the alcohol washed over him.

With a rush of exhilaration, Gwaine opened his eyes and asked gleefully, "Flying's fu—" He frowned. "Why're there two suns in the sky, _Mur_lin?"

Merlin's arms, barely touching him, stiffened, and the pretty suns, so warm and golden, much to Gwaine's disappointment, disappeared.

"It's nighttime, Gwaine. Let's get you home," Merlin muttered edgily.

When Gwaine awoke the next morning in his bed with the worst hangover of his life—it occurred to him that he had had many worst-hangovers-of-his-life—he groaned, wondered when it was that Merlin was called to drag him home (he _rarely_ recalled the nights that Merlin had to be called to get him), and rubbed his burning eyes. The sun really was too bri—

Despite his headache, Gwaine sat bolt upright.

This time, he did remember.

Two suns in the sky?

No, they had been Merlin's eyes.

* * *

AN: Oh geez, did I just write a Reveal again? ;P

There'll be two more coming up in a few hours for you guys, so stick around. :)


	15. Now Go

AN: For you, OceanMintLeaves. :D

* * *

Prompt: "A Hunith drabble! *grins* I just LOVE the way you write her."

Characters: Hunith and Merlin.

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal…I need to write an over-the-top-cute-and-fluffy one eventually, Ocean, but, instead, I seemed to want angsty this time around. ;D

Word Count: Erm... 1,222 (These seem to get longer and longer… ;P)

* * *

**Now Go**

It had finally happened. All of Hunith's greatest fears…

Well, not_ all_. Merlin _was_ still alive.

Word had come speeding from Camelot that the King's manservant, in front of an audience of hundreds, had revealed his magic—only a few whispers found it fit to add that that magic was used to prevent an assassin of Morgana's from killing Arthur—and had been publicly exiled.

Only one tear rolled down her cheek upon hearing the news. Only one tear fell before she, her eyes so much like her son's, saw his lopsided smile in her mind's eye.

She had spent most of Merlin's lifetime safeguarding his secret, his gift, his _magic_ and worrying incessantly about the day that his secret would be secret no more…

Before Merlin had left for Camelot, she had been resigned to the fact that Merlin might never be free from fear, that he might never be able to use his magic for the good of mankind without being sent to the pyre for it…But, on the fateful day that Merlin had become a part of the royal household and wrote to her about _him_, hope had found her again.

Arthur's entrance into her son's life had rekindled her failing hope, and after meeting him, seeing her son look upon him with fierce loyalty…

Hunith knew it was more than possible.

And as the years passed, with every passing letter from Merlin and Gaius, who told her what Merlin did not, she could see her son's destiny at Arthur's side and could see Arthur and Merlin's bond growing.

For so long, she had been _sure_…

But she couldn't resent Arthur for reacting the way he did, and that wasn't only because she knew her forgiving, golden-hearted son well enough to know that _he_ didn't resent the Pendragon—that he _never _had and never _would_.

Merlin loved Arthur like a brother, and as did Arthur, he.

However, that did not change the fact that the last two weeks, Hunith had been in living in a world of her worst nightmares. The maddening whispers sometimes told that Arthur sent soldiers out to look for him, and others said that he locked himself in his chambers, barring entrance to even Guinevere. The last two weeks, she spent wakeful and almost sick with worry. Because, despite her reluctance to believe that Arthur had sent soldiers out to drag her son back to Camelot for execution, soldiers' footsteps stalked her, and she relived the very moment that they had marched on Ealdor for Balinor…over and over again.

She woke with a fright often enough in the night believing that she heard the metallic ring of swords, the stomping of boots, and the crackling roar of fire, and the rest of the night, she couldn't keep her worry at bay.

Merlin himself…she did not know _where _the hell he was, and even though he sent a brief note by magic telling her that he suspected Morgana was up to something and that, despite everything, he _needed _to stay near Camelot, she wasn't comforted.

Her fear for him was vaster than any sea.

And then she didn't even want to _begin _to think about her annoyance as the villagers she had lived with for most of her adult life began to either ask her relentless questions or avoid her eyes.

Sighing, Hunith drew her misty gaze from the dying flames of her fire—her dinner was going to take _another_ couple minutes, it seemed—and as she stood to reach for the kindling and flint—

_Bam_!

Even though Hunith could recognize that sound anywhere, she, with her heart rising to her throat and choking back her yelp, jumped in surprise and whirled around.

It wasn't who she expected it to be.

With blazing eyes, she snarled angrily, "What do you think—?" Suddenly, she stopped at peered more closely at the old cloaked man, who closed her door sheepishly.

His face wasn't her son's, but those stormy blue eyes—she would recognize them anywhere.

Flinging herself across the hut with a dry sob, she tackled him with a ferocious hug and whispered, "_Merlin_."

Gnarled hands held her close for a few moments before he pulled away, saying in a raspy, deep voice, "Mother, there isn't enough time for me to explain."

"What's going on?"

Merlin smirked through his white whiskers—and just when Hunith had been sure that she had seen every strange thing that he would do with his magic—and rolled his eyes. "_Arthur's _going on, of course."

Something _huge_ was happening. She could hear it in the harsh edge to his voice and the steely, stubborn glint in his eyes.

Bone-chilling and mind-numbing terror gripped her, and she, looking directly into his eyes—to imagine them lifeless, dead, _gone..._

Hunith pleaded in a wavering, weak voice, "Merlin, I can't lose you."

"She's going to attack Camelot, Mother," Merlin said, his eyes burning with determination and conviction. "Arthur…they don't know. I tried to warn him, but the prat wouldn't listen to me. I've been watching her, Mother, and without me, Camelot is doomed. It is tonight."

As much as she didn't want to let him go again…

Love radiated from every fiber of her heart. He was a man now—brave, loyal, intelligent, sweet, modest…

How he had grown.

"Then go, my son," she whispered in understanding.

He pressed her hand and smiled. Hunith's eyes skipped across her son's aged face, and she picked out the similarities—the high cheekbones, the dimples, the elfin structure…

But it wasn't the same. It was a disguise. A mask. And that—that made a sudden prick of disappointment pinch her very soul.

This face was the face of Emrys. It wasn't the face she knew…nor the face _he _knew.

"No disguise, Merlin," she found herself saying.

Being his mother, she knew exactly how good Merlin was at hiding his pain (both emotional and physical), but even she couldn't help but be surprised when his expressive blue eyes shattered like glass and opened to her, displaying all the pain he had felt these past two weeks…

"My boy," she said, taking him again into her arms.

"I—I'm not ready," Merlin whispered shakily into her hair, "To face them. I—I can't. Not now. Not after what has happened. Not after what he said to me."

Hunith drew away to look up into his tear-filled eyes, and after a moment of silence, she asked simply, wisely, "Wouldn't you rather have Arthur know you for _you, _Merlin?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Suddenly, his posture shifted as a newfound confidence, hope, and resolve found him, and a blinding smile lit his face as he embraced her one last time.

"I would definitely rather."

"Then _show _him," she said, and with an impish teasing in her voice, she added, "I know how you like to prove him wrong."

He released a bright laugh, and a rush of his magic—more powerful than she could ever remember it feeling—washed over her. She felt his hands becoming smooth, his scratchy whiskers no longer tickling her head…

Holding his now-young face and brushing away the last trace of tears from his cheeks with her thumb, Hunith, her eyes shining with pride, smiled. "Now go. Your King needs his warlock."

* * *

AN: Rather sad that that's the first time I've written about old-Merlin in this fic. *scoffs* What kind of Dragoon-lover am I? :P Anyway, I hope you liked the intense mother-son bonding, everyone. :)


	16. Parallels

AN: For Nevermore15. This was odd to write, but I think it was interesting, too, to play on some irony. ;)

* * *

Prompt: "I have a request. An itty, bitty request even though you probably already have so many to do: Hunith/Uther. I ship Hunith/Balinor, but I can't help but think that Hunith/Uther would be just...so adorable."

Characters: Uther and Hunith

Ratings/Warnings: Hunith/Uther pairing…and yet it still can be considered canon! How?! I'm awesome, that's how. ;) Very much inspired by the Uther quote "I didn't inherit this kingdom; I won it" and by the Hunith-Uther scene in 1x10. I twisted some legends here, also.

Word Count: 1,134 (Gosh, writing about Hunith just makes me go nuts, apparently. :P)

* * *

**Parallels**

Drawing his meager cloak about him—he was glad it was a chilly day and that it wasn't too conspicuous that he had pulled his hood up to hide his face—the young man walked purposefully into the teeming village.

No one questioned him when they thought that he belonged there, and he quickly made his way over to the elder's house, which was slightly distanced from the others on the hill overlooking the rest of the town.

Nearly trembling in his excitement and in the surreal quality of this moment, he walked along the well-worn path, and when his lively pale green eyes first caught sight of her drawing water from the well, his breath caught in his throat.

Her dark hair, black and silky as a raven's wing, cascaded down her slim shoulder to her waist, and even from this distance, he could see her habitually tuck an unmanageable strand behind her ear to keep it from her lively, changeable blue eyes, which could just as easily be sparkling with a mischievous impishness as blazing with a pig-headed stubbornness, given her mood.

A small smile twitched at his lips as he remembered how only years ago when his father and he travelled every year through these parts from kingdom to kingdom—Camelot was in peril, and her king corrupt and failing—after riding recklessly through a rough part of the forest, he had been thrown from his horse and had sprained an ankle.

She had found him, and even though he could see that she recognized him as a Prince, she chided him and teased him before helping him back to her father—the elder—and tending to his injury.

From that day forward, Prince Uther, enchanted and intrigued by the elfin-faced girl who seemed not to care about his title, took every chance to come visit the village, which was one of the richest in his father's lands and quite close to their castle, and had subsequently befriended and then began to have feelings for.

"Uther!" she exclaimed in a musical voice. He started at the sound of his name, and after he realized that she, smirking, had been watching him daydream and had recognized him despite the cloak, he smiled sheepishly.

A broad smile spread across her face, and she, without a care for her dress, sped clumsily down the knoll to greet him.

"Hunith," he breathed.

Breathless, she, her hair in tangles, skidded to a stop before him and said with tears of happiness in her eyes, "I heard—I heard that you took Camelot! After all those years of planning to rid us of that pig Vortigern, after he killed your father Ambrosius… I can't _believe _it. We're _free_."

A flush of triumph and pride colored his face, and his hood was blown back. Taking her hand, he kissed it and agreed, "We are free, Hunith."

Suddenly, a soft concern filtered into her joyous blue eyes, and she, reaching up to his forehead to trace the thin, long scratch with her fingertips, whispered knowingly, "You got hurt."

Scowling good-naturedly and forcing away images of the bloody, nightmarish battle that he knew she saw flash through his eyes, he said, "Superficial scratch. I'm lucky to have my life."

"And now you are king," Hunith said, squeezing his hand. "I am so proud of you."

She threw her arms around his neck, and he, with butterflies in his stomach, sighed, "I—I don't think I'm ready for this, Hunith."

The girl's eyes shone, and she said sincerely, "Uther, you are the only man that can heal the wounds that Vortigern has inflicted upon our land. I believe in you, and I know that Camelot will grow to become the greatest kingdom of our time."

Her words, her belief in him, bolstered his spirit, and after releasing a breathy chuckle, he impulsively said, "Hunith, come with me."

Eyes dancing about his now-scarred face and brow furrowing, Hunith's pale pink lips parted, and pain flitted across her face.

When she did not say anything, he said cautiously, "If I'm to be king, I'll need a queen."

Tears formed in Hunith's eyes, and after shaking her head slowly and pursing her lips, Uther, face burning and tears threatening to fall, dropped her hands and stepped back.

"Uther," Hunith said earnestly, grabbing his callused hands again. "I care for you so much. No, please understand me. I cannot be your queen."

"I don't see why not," Uther argued.

Biting her lip, the young woman shook her head again. "You need a queen who can rule by your side, Uther. I—I may be the daughter of a village elder, but I am still peasant-born. I know nothing of matters of state, very little about war, and even less about court-life."

Uther did not hide his eyes from her, even though his throat was thick, but he, always one to see with his head over his heart, knew the wisdom in her words.

He also knew that she was right.

"I am not destined to be your queen, and if you care about the people of this realm, you will chose a queen that they deserve and the one that will be able to do everything that I can't."

Hunith smirked and, reminding him of a joke that they had had for years, added, "And, as your so fond of reminding me, I can hardly do anything right, can I?"

That got a genuine chuckle out of him, and though his heart was stinging and heavy, he knew that everything…everything would be alright. She was right, as she always was, and his heart—as the Fates decreed—would heal without a scar.

"Friends then, Hunith?" he asked with a smile that showed that there were no hard feelings.

"Always," she agreed.

And so, after Hunith invited him to dinner with her father and they shared tales late into the night, they went their separate ways, but not before Hunith gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Good luck, Uther Pendragon. I believe you will be a great king."

Those words would echo in his dreams for the rest of his life, but unfortunately, Destiny would never let them meet as close friends again.

And little did he know that, years later, he would hunt her husband, create a world in which her son had no place, and come to hate everything that she stood for.

Little did he know that, years later, that same son would become _his_ son's truest friend.

Little did he know that, years later, he, changed beyond all reckoning and hardened by his years as king, would scarcely recognize her as she, who he had once believed would kneel before no man, knelt before him, complimented him, and pleaded for his assistance with not only compassion and pain but _forgiveness _shining in her eyes.

Little did he know that, years later, his son would face the same decision he did and that he would be the man…who turned _back_.

* * *

AN: :) I had fun with those parallels. Hope you enjoyed this, Nevermore15. :)

Oh, and yes, you guys have convinced me to write a continuation of "Two Suns in the Sky," but at the moment, I'm drabble'd out. :P You'll have to wait a bit for it.


	17. Two Idiots in the Physician's Chambers

AN: This is for a fair few of you. You know who you are. :D

* * *

Prompt: "Do a continuation of Two Suns in the Sky!"

Characters: Merlin and Gwaine

Ratings/Warnings: Sequel to Two Suns in the Sky (#14), but I suppose it could stand alone. Probably not as humorous as its predecessor. Merlin's POV.

Word Count: 760

* * *

**Two Idiots in the Physician's Chambers**

When a disheveled, raging Gwaine, shirtless, boot-less, and horribly hung-over, stumbled and crashed loudly, angrily, and downright obnoxiously into Gaius' chambers, Merlin, who was bent over in fierce concentration over the workbench with two vials in hand, jumped with a violent jerk and, without looking around to see the intruder and with a high-pitched yelp, fumbled frantically at the vials that nearly slipped from his grasp.

The raven-haired young man sighed with relief, but then he suddenly spun around, cursing insolently, with annoyance coloring his tone and hardening his playful eyes, "Dammit, Arthur! These are extremely flammable when mixed improperly! Gaius would have both our heads if—"

Upon seeing Gwaine, with his hand splayed across the door and with his chest heaving with the force of his panting, glowering and standing in all his drunken glory at the physician's door, Merlin cut himself off, cocked his head, and asked, "Gwaine?"

When he didn't answer, Merlin shrugged and continued, "Sorry, I thought you were Arthur… coming to drag me off to polish your armor or something." Smiling brightly and completely oblivious to the roguish Knight's persistent, narrow-eyed glower, Merlin turned away, set aside the two vials of dangerous material, and started clinking around through the organized mess that was Gaius' workplace.

"D'you need one of Gaius' pick-me-ups?" he asked, balancing the remedy on his palm and grinning cheekily.

Gwaine finally averted his brown eyes from Merlin's, seemed to consider the potion with a mixture of distaste and interest, and then, with a wrinkled nose, brought his gaze back to Merlin's. "No," he said. "What I need—is for you to tell me something."

Unease pricked at Merlin, and an ominous shiver went down his spine. However, he laughed it off. This was _Gwaine_, and his torpid speech seemed a little too leaden for the warlock to take seriously at all.

"Oh?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Gwaine said, crossing his arms. "Care to explain why I saw two suns in the sky last night?"

Immediately, Merlin's throat went dry, and with his shoulders tensing, he carefully met the now all-too-sober gaze of the Knight.

"You were drunk, Gwaine," Merlin sighed with a forced exasperation and hearty chuckle that seemed far too unnatural to his own ears. "You know the kind of stuff you spout when you've had too much to—"

"Merlin, I saw your suns—" A brief flicker of confusion passed over his face, and he corrected, "No, er, eyes!" Satisfied, he nodded, "Yes, _eyes_. I saw them Merlin! Gold as the sun."

"My _eyes_, Gwaine?" Merlin asked with a quirked eyebrow. He, forcing his heart to cease its sprinting, leaned leisurely back on his elbows on the table, and overall, it was a rather nice effect as it seemed to unbalance the sleepy, nauseated Knight. "What are you talking about?"

Of course, his hopes were destroyed when Gwaine shook his head like a wet dog and exclaimed, "Don't give me that, mate! I _know _you used—Merlin!"

Gwaine's sudden change of tone—from that of accusation to that of warning—made Merlin jump again, and he, following the Knight's stare, saw that he had elbowed over one of the vials of dangerous chemicals that Gaius wanted him to _carefully _(the elder man had emphasized this _particularly_) handle for some advanced something-or-other he was preparing…

And had started a small fire, which was only erupting into larger and larger flames...

"Put it out! Put it out!" the Knight shouted in panic as he rushed into the room (Merlin couldn't help but think that that wasn't very smart) and searched for anything he could use to bat away the flames.

After the flames consumed the entire bench in what seemed like mere seconds and after they started to crawl towards Gaius' written work, journals, and books (oh, and towards them…that wasn't too good), Merlin, without thinking, shot his palm outward and incanted a spell under his breath…

His eyes blazed gold, and the fire was gone just as soon as it had appeared.

Releasing a giddy chuckle, Merlin lowered his hand, and before he could so much as vow that Gaius _wouldn't_ hear about this, he remembered Gwaine…

Who was staring at him like a gaping fish.

"Ha!" his friend yelled victoriously. He threw his arms, grinned with all his might, and laughed childishly, "I _knew _it! I knew you had magic!"

Merlin's blood froze for the briefest moment, but after realizing how _idiotic_ he had just been, his palm went sailing to his forehead.

* * *

AN: Ah, no good humor fic is complete without a face-palm. :P

Hope you liked! :D While I will NOT continue this one, I will be continuing "Now Go" for carinims01 sometime in the near future. :P


	18. Two Weeks

AN: For you, carinims01, and guess what? I've decided to extend this to a THIRD one...only because this one spiraled out of control. ^^ Hope ya like!

* * *

Prompt: "If you can, can you continue that one [Now Go] too? Like, have a brief fight between Merlin and Morgana with everyone (Arthur, Gwen, Knights) watching and then Merlin facing them? Personal favor perhaps?"

Characters: Arthur and Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Sequel (well, more a prequel) to Now Go (#15). And this is my first enraged!Arthur Reveal! Kinda exciting and too short to be anything really amazing, in my opinion. Unfortunately, there's no Hunith here, but I'm sure the bromance and angst'll make it up to you. ;) Arthur's POV. I seem to like his POV more after writing Only Friend. :P

Word Count: Almost 1,000

* * *

**Two Weeks**

It had been two weeks. Two bloody _weeks_.

Two weeks since Arthur found himself spending more time alone in his chambers (_sulking broodily_, he had heard Gwaine say in an undertone to Percival the other day) than he had in his entire life.

Two weeks since an assassin had been sent after Arthur and his newly wedded Queen.

Two weeks since his life had been saved (_again_, his mind had whispered to him repetitively) by none other than Merlin.

Two weeks since he had repaid him by pushing him away…calling him traitor, betrayer, evil…

Arthur clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes against the sight of Merlin's eyes, gold and blue….

~…~

"Get out of my sight, traitor!"

"Arthur, please—" Merlin, blue eyes fractured with pain, reached out with his hand. It had once gesture of comfort—of friendship and brotherhood. But at that moment, all Arthur could see was the ball of fire that had sat in that pale, long-fingered palm—that had killed the sorcerer-assassin in the blink of an eye—as Merlin's eyes flared with the alien gold of magic…

He cringed away from the hand.

One day, he would come to understand that that one involuntary movement hurt Merlin more than any of the words he hurled at him that day.

Biting his lip, Merlin withdrew cautiously as though he were a dog about to be beaten. "Please listen to me," he choked out.

"There's nothing to listen to!" an enraged Arthur had shouted, causing the whole room full of council members and Knights to cringe and cower. "You have _magic_!"

The mantra of Uther's reign went unsaid.

His snarling tone was disgusted, disdainful; it was a horrid, nasty, cruel way to cover up the hurt he felt at Merlin's—his advisor, guider, friend's—betrayal.

That was more than enough to imply that he thought that magic was evil.

Merlin's eyes took on an insolent gleam as he, true to his nature and as he had been doing since they first met years ago, yelled at his King with equal boldness, "You had better bloody well believe there's something to listen to! Morgana's coming! Can you not see that? You'll need me to fight her!"

"With your _magic_?" Arthur sneered impractically. "You are no better than she is!"

Merlin flinched, and with flashing eyes, he retorted, "That magic you condemn—I was _born_ with it, _Sire_—" the unnaturalness of that statement, both the odd revelation about Merlin's magic and the title coming from Merlin's lips, made Arthur wince "—and d'you know why? Why I was born like this?"

Everyone, who had barely moved a single muscle or made a single noise from the moment they saw Merlin use magic (even Gwaine and Gwen knew better not to interrupt the two), was spellbound as Merlin gestured to himself and as a hysterical edge crept into his voice, and they, still slack-jawed, seemed to shift forward in anticipation for his answer.

"You, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin said.

Rage tinted his vision and made his eyes sting.

"You blame me for your curse?" Arthur spat, misunderstanding and recoiling at what he believed was an accusation.

A dark shadow had slipped over Merlin's face, and hiding his pain behind a stoic mask, he had said softly, "Do you really believe it a curse, Arthur? When all I've ever used my powers for…was to protect you and Camelot?"

Despite the tone in which the words were said, they stabbed at Arthur like a dagger, and that dagger twisted further into his heart.

When the King, whose blood was boiling, didn't answer, Merlin's stormy eyes softened with sincerity, and he said, "What I meant was that my magic was meant to be used for you…for helping you realize your part in this world. My magic—it doesn't change the fact I'd _die_ for you, Arthur. My loyalty is yours now and always. It doesn't change _anything_."

Arthur blinked incredulously and barked a delayed, humorless laugh. "It changes _everything_, sorcerer."

"I'm your _friend_, Arthur!"

Feeling the tears filming his eyes, Arthur turned away. "You are no friend of mine. No friend does this—this is a betrayal that can never be forgiven."

This silenced Merlin, and after taking a shaky breath, he said in a dead tone that tore at Arthur's heart, "Then my life is hardly worth living. For in you I found my purpose. Do with me what you will, my King."

And so Merlin, his quirky, insolent, stubborn-headed servant, _kneeled _before him, inclining his raven-haired head.

That shocked him to the core and made his fury fade, and pursing his lips, the King could take no more. He couldn't see Merlin, his Merlin…broken.

Because of him.

"Leave."

Merlin's grey-cobalt eyes flickered to his. They were not as dulled as Arthur expected, and instead, he stared at him with skeptical bemusement.

No doubt he expected death.

"And do not return."

The young man stood gawkily to his feet, and the bright light of life—_hope_—filtered back into his eyes. "I will never be far, Arthur," he vowed. "Should you or Camelot need be, I'll always be there for you."

And with those words…he was gone.

~…~

Yes, it had been two long weeks of that memory replaying itself over and over again in his mind's eye…

And two weeks since he had wished he could call him back—that he could take it _all _back.

Of course, it had taken the King those two weeks to realize it, but the moment Merlin turned his back and walked away, Arthur, who had had the time to think, to wallow in guilt, and to soar through good memories, regretted it.

Soon, he would see that he was wrong, and Merlin was right.

* * *

AN: I love this new Copy-N-Paste option on the DocManager. It's making these short ficlets a lot easier to post. :P Anyway, third one will be up sometime soon.

EDIT: I cut a large portion out of the end there because it was too early for that much forgiveness. To those that read it, I apologize and I hope you didn't like it too much. :P


	19. This is Merlin

AN: Also for carinims01. Let me just say, I'm far more pleased with this one than the last one.

* * *

Prompt: Same as #18.

Characters: Arthur and Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Sequel to Two Weeks (#18) and Now Go (#15). Another Arthur POV. More bromance and small amount of Merlin BAMFness.

Word Count: 1,330

* * *

**This is Merlin**

No one saw the storm coming.

It seemed to appear out of nowhere, and it wasn't until a tree branch whacked against Arthur's window and jerked him from his thoughts about his exiled servant that he looked up.

Never before had he seen a storm like this.

The sky was pitch black, and yet, the thickness of the rolling clouds made the sky look as though it was tinged _green_ at the same time. Wind roared, and even from his chambers, the King could see the branches of the trees in the forest outside the citadel bending with the force. Not a single soul stirred outside, and abandoned carts and goods, which their owners, workers, and sellers had left in their rush for shelter, were blowing everywhere across the square and through the Lower Town.

And then the rain came, crashing upon them all.

It seemed to Arthur as though the sky was falling or as though the gods were taking vengeance for some great sin.

"Sire!"

Sopping wet and hardly caring to brush his hair out of his eyes, Leon, followed hurriedly by an equally wet Gwaine and a dry Percival, Elyan, and Gwen, burst into his chambers without ceremony, and Arthur, who was about to ask what was wrong (because judging from the look on their faces, something was _definitely_ wrong), was interrupted with a furious, "Too bad we disturbed you! And no, we're sure as hell not leaving!" from Gwaine, who had tried, along with the others, to coax him to talk with them after Merlin had gone.

He had repeatedly yelled at them enough for them to guess what he'd say to them for bursting in like that when he was busy "_sulking_."

Percival elbowed Gwaine harshly, and Leon, ignoring the two, said quickly, "Merlin was right. She's here."

The blood drained from Arthur's face, and thunder crashed, causing some maids down the corridor to squeal in fear. "What?" he asked over the roar of rain.

"She's causing the storm!" Percival exclaimed.

At that moment when all of them looked out through the widow worriedly, unnatural emerald lightning followed the thunderclap and illuminated one tower in particular, and on that tower, Arthur saw, clear as day, a smirking figure clad in black and a bright and glowing amulet that pierced through the darkness like light in fog.

Arthur, staring at Morgana, swore under his breath, and Gwaine, who was watching with attentive, worried eyes by the King's side, sucked in a breath, pointed, and gasped, "What the hell does he think he's doing?"

And in the dying light of the lightning, Arthur, having been so focused on the threat, saw what he neglected to see.

Merlin was climbing another tower near them.

Gwaine's eyes hardened with determination, and by the time he drew his sword, Arthur found Excalibur already in hand.

Catching Arthur's and Gwaine's arms before they could rashly dash away, Leon shouted, "No! Look at it out there! It's too dangerous to so much as take one step outside!"

"Merlin's out there!" Arthur roared, wrenching his arm free. "I can't sit by—"

Gwen's cry of "Look!" captured the warriors' attentions.

With another flash of lightning, they could clearly see their wiry friend standing on a parapet directly across from Morgana, and raising his hand to the sky, in the fading light of one eerie green, evil bolt, Merlin directed _another _bolt, this one golden and pulsing with beautiful, raw magic, to cross with the last…

The explosion of fire from the crossing bolts sent a ripple of power and energy across the skies, and as the force ricocheted upwards, it pushed aside the black clouds, which effectively ceased the rain, the thunder, and Morgana's Dark magic.

The witch herself, drenched and livid, appeared to release a shriek, and after Arthur saw the amulet burst into golden flames and drop from her hands, she whirled around…

And froze upon setting her eyes on Merlin, whose stony mask of merciless concentration and faithful protectiveness broke as a sheepish, weak smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

He nodded once to her, and with an expression of utter terror, Morgana clearly mouthed the name, "Emrys," which sent shivers of recognition down Arthur's spine.

To everyone's immense surprise, the ruthless witch stuck her tail between her legs and fled.

"Oh my…" Gwen whispered, gripping Arthur's arm tightly. "Thank the gods… he's alright. He—"

"He saved us all," Elyan finished. "Whatever Morgana was doing—"

Suddenly, Merlin, who had been holding himself upright with a confidence that Arthur had never seen before, deflated, and stumbling with weariness, he sat heavily down at the top of the tower.

"Is he alright? What is he doing?" Percival asked.

"He's waiting," Arthur realized aloud in a dazed tone. "He's waiting for me."

Sure enough, within seconds, the entire group saw soldiers march out across the square and bellow up to Merlin's tower, and their quirky friend, peeking his head over the side, answered with what Arthur immediately recognized by the lopsided grin and the impish eyes was a witty retort.

A small hint of exasperated humor shone from Arthur's eyes. Of course Merlin would want to be sure to prove him wrong, and what better way to do that than force him to acknowledge him?

But no, that wasn't it.

Merlin was proving that he would follow no man but his King, and a rush of affection and renewed remorse flooded him.

The others, in varying states of awe, jumped when a guard knocked on Arthur's door, but the King had expected it and received the man, who bowed and said, "The sorcerer Merlin has returned to the castle, my Lord. He adamantly refuses to come down until he sees you. He's threatened us with—" the man swallowed "—belching frogs."

The guard looked utterly baffled when Arthur laughed—the first real laugh he had in two weeks—and he said, "Tell him I will see him in the council chambers."

After the man bowed again, Arthur ordered jokingly, "Oh, and don't rough him up. Despite appearances, he can actually walk on his own."

~…~

When Merlin, escorted by no less than five guards, walked into the chambers, his smiling stormy blue eyes, which, though bright with exhilaration at his victory, looked as though they were struggling to stay open, passed over the Knights and Gwen before settling on Arthur.

The warlock grinned lopsidedly at his King and greeted impishly, "I told you so."

Beside him, Gwaine snorted, and though Arthur managed to keep his face straight, his eyes sparkled with relief and joy. "Indeed."

It was as if he had never left, and looking at the idiot, who was simultaneously brave and selfless...

"I've only detained her, unfortunately…"

"Nonsense!" Gwen scoffed. "You _scared_ her away, Merlin!"

The younger man flushed and said modestly, "Not for long. She'll be back. And next time, there'll be no element of surprise…and then she won't try to summon a demon with something as flimsy and poorly made as _that_ old thing she dug up."

He—he was _joking _about her attack. Mocking her.

He was more powerful than they could even guess.

And the way he referred to magic… so open, so free…so _natural_.

"That flimsy old thing," Arthur finally said in disbelief, "created a magical storm that could have knocked down half the forest, _Mer_lin."

The humor died from his eyes. "I wouldn't have let it," he said softly.

_This i_s _Merlin._

All of it.

None of the humor, the laughter, the loyalty, the insolence, the modesty and the steadfastness was a falsity, as he had feared. None of what he admired and respected about him was gone.

At that moment, it didn't matter that Arthur had questions and that apologies needed to be given.

At that moment, all the King could do was stride to Merlin and envelop him in a hug.

"I know, Merlin. Welcome home."

* * *

AN: Lol, I reused a joke from another fic in there. :P Kudos to those who find it. ;D

I skipped over all the huge questions, I know, but since this isn't a multi-chapter... I had to make do with that. I leave the Reveal chat to your imaginations, everyone! :D


	20. Percy

AN: For you, Windy Silvermist! Inspiration: Merlin and Percival never really greeted each other in 3x13, and I kinda wanted to explore how they met. I know a lot of people have done a young!fic with Arthur meeting Merlin. But Percival? New territory here. Enjoy:

* * *

Prompt: "Your success with the Gwaine reveal made me curious. What about a Percival reveal?"

Characters: Percival, Merlin, Will.

Ratings/Warnings: Percy's POV. Young!fic. Might feel a little OOC in that regard… I wrote young!Percy as a VERY shy, awkward boy in the beginning. I also stole some random names from the legends. Tor is apparently (according to Wikipedia) a half-brother of Percival in the legends, so I guess it's not that inaccurate? :P Oh, and I know that Merlin said to Freya in 2x09 that Ealdor was nothing more than a couple of fields and cows, but I took the liberty of adding something there. Sorry if that bugs you. Dunno if it's realistic, but we'll pretend it is.

Word Count: 5,696 (This one turned into a freaking one-shot, Windy! I blame you, lol. ;D)

* * *

**Percy**

The boy, his inquisitive green eyes bright as they roved across the landscape and approaching village on the horizon, bounced eagerly on the seat of his old farm-horse and called to his brother, father (he was on a two-weeks'-leave from Cenred's army and actually with themfor the first time in _months_), and mother, who were all lingering for what seemed like an _agonizingly _long time at the stream, "Didn't you want to get there before midday, Mother?"

While Branwen turned to look over her shoulder and smiled fondly at her youngest son for his impatience, his brother, Tor, who was a man in his own right (he was seven-and-ten and five years his senior) and who made Percival constantly aware of his superior age, smirked condescendingly, rolled his eyes, and made some snide comment to his father that the boy couldn't hear and that had his mother gently shoving him.

"C'mon, Tor, be nice," she scolded in an undertone. "This is Percival's first trip outside of Andefera (1). It's no wonder he's excited."

It was no lie—he had never so much as traveled more than a few leagues away from his town before, so he had very, very good cause to be annoyingly restless, curious, and excited—and as Percival turned his eyes back out to their destination, Branwen's home village, where she had asked that their small party stop for a few hours so that she could visit with a childhood friend of hers before traveling on to Camelot (his father had business there—_in Camelot_—the boy could hardly wrap his mind around it), a broad, toothy smile spread across his face.

The new sights, the new experiences—it was mind-boggling, and even before the rest of his family mounted, he was laughing and calling out a challenge to Tor, who immediately charged after him.

Of course, it wasn't until Percival rode into the new village and saw the people watching curiously or calling out in friendly greeting and it wasn't until he was standing before his mother's friend that he remembered how painfully shy he was around strangers.

All of his excitement ebbed away, and digging his booted toe into the ground, hiding his eyes from the entrancing elfin features of the woman his mother was catching up with and presenting him to (Tor and his father had already wandered off to chat with the men), and trying to bully himself into finding the courage to look up, he realized with a sinking sensation that perhaps this _wasn't _so great as he imagined.

After catching sight of something from his peripheral vision and hearing a sunny laugh, he was distracted from his irrational fear to speak in front of this woman and brought his eyes up far enough to investigate the source of the laughter.

Sitting up on a rickety fence not more than a few paces away were two boys, one younger than him by one or two years and the other probably younger by a good four or five years. The older of them was a ball of energy as he chatted amiably to the other and swung his legs, but it wasn't he who caught Percival's attention.

It was the other one. The younger. The one who had laughed. The lanky one with shaggy hair as black as a raven's wing and with unnatural, cheerful blue eyes that seemed far older than they had any right to be and with the lopsided smile so goofy that Percival couldn't help but smile in turn.

The moment those stormy blue eyes locked with his, however, Percival's smile faded as a strange shudder ran through him, and he was more than grateful when his mother drew his attention back to her by saying, "Dear, say hello to Hunith."

"It's nice to meet you, Hunith," he said politely with a smile that, to his surprise, didn't betray how discomforted he felt by the boy.

Hunith beamed at him with a smile eerily similar to the young boy's, and after looking back with a quick flicker of her eyes at said boy, who, cocking his head, clumsily began to scramble down from the fence with the other bulkier boy in tow at this silent summons, she responded with a gentle tone, "And you."

Branwen nudged him, gestured to the small house next to them, and said, "Now, go on and explore. We'll be here if you need us."

"Ealdor's not exactly the most exciting place," Hunith joked to Percival, "but I'm sure my son would be glad to show you the hidden nooks of adventure he's found. Right, Merlin?"

The strange boy, who had just loped up, smiled as Hunith ruffled his hair affectionately. "Of course, Mother," he agreed.

Being as shy as he was, Percival found it incredibly awkward standing there with the two younger strangers when the two women ducked into Hunith's house, and he shuffled his feet. The lanky boy—_Mer_lin…oddest name he'd ever heard in his life—wasn't making it any easier for Percival to build up his courage to introduce himself…not when the impish eyes were scanning his face with a vigilance and intelligence that, despite the dreamy quality they took on, unnerved him.

"Mate?" The boy with the lighter hair asked. When Merlin didn't respond, he caught Percival's eye and rolled them to express his exasperation at his strange friend.

Unable to take the unnatural, ancient gleam in his eyes any longer, Percival blurted suddenly, "Would you stop staring?"

The raven blinked, and suddenly, he transformed back into the sunny, personable boy who had been sitting on the fence. "Sorry," he apologized with a sheepish grin. "I just can't get over the feeling we've met before."

Percival's eyes widened—the boy put to words _exactly _what he couldn't explain himself—and he said hurriedly, "We—we haven't."

Grinning sheepishly, the boy said, "I know. My name's Merlin." With a sweep of his hand, he added, "And this is Will."

"Hullo," Will said with a cheeky smile and a jerk of his chin.

Before Percival could even _think_ to speak, Merlin, with sparkling eyes, asked energetically (in the typical, nosy manner of a child), "What's yours? Your name, I mean."

Even Percival, recognized (unbeknownst to him) as the most athletic youth in his town, was taken aback by the puppy-dog enthusiasm and energy. "P—Perci—"

Merlin scrunched up his face and giggled, "_Percy_?"

Percival's face turned beet red in a mixture of frustration, annoyance, and embarrassment at the lad's interjection, and a shudder of horror ran down his spine.

He _never _let anyone call him Percy. No one. Of course, his absolute hatred of the nickname only led Tor to use it whenever and wherever possible to get on his nerves…

"That's a weird name if I ever heard one," Merlin said brightly. "But I like it."

The older boy opened his mouth to protest, but to his misfortune, his tongue twisted as he struggled to decide whether to retort that _his _name was _weirder _(which seemed extraordinarily childish, in retrospect. He was _twelve; _he was too old for such arguments, according to Tor, whom Percival, despite their quarrels, looked up to like no other) or to correct Merlin's horrible abuse of his name.

By then, however, it was already too late. Merlin, oblivious to his indignation and bemusement, had taken ahold of his hand and began to tug him towards the line of trees bordering Ealdor. "C'mon, then, Percy—" the name set his teeth on edge, but the lad's vivacious, happy-go-lucky aura had the older boy smiling and feeling…_comfortable_. He hadn't the heart to correct him now "—Will and I can show you the Rock."

"The Rock?" Percival asked, docilely following Merlin and smirking when the boy tripped—he was a gangly thing…all elbows and knees—over what appeared to be nothing.

Will, too, laughed at his friend as he caught his arm. "Watch your step, Merlin."

Merlin simply scowled in response to Will's obvious amusement and plowed onward.

"It's our place up by the stream behind Old Man Simmons' place," Will finally answered in a benevolent tone. "A lot of us like to go there when we can be spared from our chores or work."

Abruptly, Percival became very aware of the threadbare, color-washed state of the two younger boys' clothing and the ridiculously ratty neckerchief of Merlin's, and somehow, this made _him_, whose clothing was new and only marginally travel-stained, feel self-conscious.

These boys, younger than he, were already doing work for their village. Chores—he never realized that he never truly did those either. While they did men's work, he was still romping and wrestling and competing with the boys of his significantly wealthier and larger trading town…

A whole new respect for the boys blossomed in him, and he, growing bolder in their company, wondered aloud, "Why call it the Rock?"

At this, Merlin, quirking a dark eyebrow, spun around and responded with a deceptively straight face (his mischievous eyes betrayed his intentions to jab at Percival for asking such a question), "Did it ever cross your mind that it was because it _is _a rock, Percy?"

Despite himself, Percival blushed, and after snorting, Will smacked Merlin across the shoulder. "Hey, now! I'm sure he doesn't appreciate your wisecracks, _Mer_lin!" In an audible undertone, he added from behind his hand, "You might scare him off. He's probably not built up a tolerance against rude rascals like you yet."

Instead of growing irritable at Will's assumption and seeing that assumption as an insult to his bravery, Percival laughed. "I have an older brother," he said in explanation, rolling his eyes and making a disgusted face.

A strange sadness and harsh edge filtered into Merlin's eyes that Percival didn't understand, and the boy sighed longingly, "You're lucky, Percy. I wish I had a brother."

Percival, cocking his head at the sobriety that Merlin suddenly possessed, was about to say something when Will, after sending a fleeting, apologetic smile in Percival's direction, gripped Merlin's shoulder.

That, apparently, was all that Merlin needed. The gentle squeeze from his friend's hand cheered him up, and after nodding his head once, he was soon beaming and babbling about how Will and he had stumbled upon the Rock one day—

Will fell back in line with Percival as Merlin dashed ahead, and he whispered to him, "Sorry about that. Merlin's a weird bird."

Percival shrugged, and tentatively, he asked, "What was that all about? If you don't mind me asking…"

Will's icy eyes took on a protective hardness, and he turned his gaze from Percival's to look ahead. "Merlin has no father," he said as if it explained everything. "Never has, actually."

With a rush of compassion and sympathy running through him, Percival, who had a young friend in Andefera with the same family situation and understood _immediately_, eyed the scrawny boy scrambling ahead, and the same steely protectiveness in Will's eyes hardened his own.

He protected his friend in just the way that Will protected Merlin…from the boys who didn't understand, from those who glared or leered or shouted cruel things in passing…

He hated them—those that thought they were better than those weaker or smaller than them, that thought that they were superior to those who suffered…

"So he _can't _have a brother," Percival mused softly.

After he scanned Percival's face and saw that he understood Merlin's troubles beyond that of a usual lad and that he was not going to attack him physically, verbally, or emotionally as the other boys did, Will dropped his guarded tone and said gently, "Wrong. He has me…and any other friend he makes will surely become a brother to him too."

For the briefest moment, Percival felt a prick of envy, and a longing wistfulness flooded him. Thinking back to his friends in his village—his relationship with them was not so…close, so true, or so pure as that.

He never realized how much he craved it until that moment. There was nothing more he wanted than that strong friendship—that _brotherhood_—bonded by something _more _than competition, games, and physical strength and agility.

"Oi, you lot!"

Merlin's call dragged Percival out of his thoughts, and he refocused his green eyes to see the younger boy grinning broadly from the low boughs of a tree overhanging a large natural pond.

With deceptive grace, he leapt down and ran to them. Crossing his arms, he asked insolently, "What held you up? You two were walking slower than snails!"

"Were not!" Will scoffed, trotting to Merlin with Percival right behind. "Not all of us have as unnaturally long legs as _you_, you know." Turning to Percival, he added pointedly and proudly, "Merlin can outrun any boy in the village."

Percival's eyes gleamed with interest, and to his credit, the younger boy flushed and gave Will a look. "Will—"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"He's pulling your leg, Percy," Merlin said modestly, ignoring his friend completely. "I'm not that fast."

"Don't listen to him. He _is_."

Unable to keep his competitiveness at bay, Percival offered eagerly, "I'll race you! Then we can see if it's true."

Merlin's eyes gleamed enthusiastically at the challenge, but he said, "On the way back. We're nearly there. Look!"

Following the lad's point, Percival saw exactly what it was the two boys dragged him into the middle of the forest to see.

They had reached a grove of trees, and sitting in the center of leafy foliage, overhanging braches, animal calls, and floating dandelion seeds was the aforementioned pond. Its waters glittered and sparkled in the afternoon sunlight, but the place was relatively shady and was a great place for fishing (a group of young men had just packed up fishing rods and were heading away) and lounging (an old man, his hat pulled low over his eyes, seemed to be napping against a broad oak tree), Percival deduced.

The most incredible feature of the area, however, was the huge—or so it seemed to him—wall of rock stretching upward to higher ground directly on the opposite side of the pond from where he stood. There must have been a stream above because there was an unsteady trickling of water falling down the front of the formation.

"It's a shame you weren't here to see it in spring," Merlin said happily. "The water rushes down after the snow melts…" A cheeky glint shone in his stormy blue eyes, and he added, "But on the other hand, you can't climb it then."

"Climb it?" Percival, eyeing the Rock, repeated with excitement.

"Yeah," Will said, "It's—it's almost a tradition…a rite in Ealdor."

On a nonverbal consensus, the boys, pushing and shoving each other so that they nearly fell into the water and became nearly as muddy as the bank of the pond itself, ran around the pond to stand before the Rock.

Panting and sweating, Percival bent his neck to look up the vertical wall of rock, which seemed even bigger and a lot more daunting than it did on the opposite side.

Merlin and Will were not so cautious. Laughing, the two boys, who must have climbed the formation enough to know the proper foot- and handholds like the back of their hands, swarmed up without a single falter and looked to Percival as though they almost _flew _up.

They made it look easy, and if _they_, who were younger and were more lithe and quick than they were strong, could do it, he could without trouble.

"Alright, Percy!" Merlin shouted over the edge. "It's your turn!"

Resolvedly, Percival shot a confident smirk at the two, and very much aware of their eyes on him, he carefully began to pick his way up.

Stone by stone, Percival climbed, and he made sure at least thrice that a jutting rock could hold his weight (he was heavier than Merlin and Will) before he made a move. All the while, the two boys from Ealdor cheered him on or groaned in horror, shouting out either, "Nice choice, mate!" or "Bad move, bad move!" respectively.

A few times, the athletic boy found himself in a rough place or dead-end and had to backtrack, but it wasn't until he was nearly at the top that he ran into some major trouble.

He got stuck.

Clinging comfortably with feet and hands placed in secure positions, Percival reached up and found that his fingertips could just graze the top edge. Eagerly, he lifted his left leg to search for a foothold, but when the one he found turned out to be significantly too loose for his liking, he shrugged and tried the other leg.

Nothing at all.

A seed of worry sprouted in his breast, and he thought to himself, _Perhaps to the right or left? _

Unfortunately, even when Percival leaned and stretched as far as he could, there was no hold for him.

And when he tried to retrace his path backwards, the previous holds he used were now too far for him to reach.

"You're nearly there, Percy!" Merlin said encouragingly. However, seeing the older boy struggle and the growing panic in his eyes, he frowned, cocked his head, and asked with a concerned tone, "What's the matter?"

Sighing, Percival muttered sarcastically, "What's it look like to you, Merlin?"

"Well, you found the handholds easily enough," Merlin mused.

"Handholds aren't the problem."

"But there's a foothold right there!" Will exclaimed, pointing to the wobbly bit of jutting rock that Percival was wary to touch let alone put his full weight on.

"It shifts," the older boy explained, stupidly looking down and feeling a rush of vertigo. "I don't think it'll support me."

Will and Merlin exchanged a look, and the former said dismissively, "If you get a good enough grip on the handholds and move fast, it shouldn't matter. The speed'll keep your weight on your foot only briefly. In the long run, you might just have to depend more on your arms than your legs."

"I dunno about this, Will," Merlin said nervously. "We could just run back and get some rope, perhaps…"

"He can't hang on _that _long, Merlin. I'm sure it'll be fine. Stop being such a—"

"I have a bad feeling, Will," he whispered, his strange multifaceted blue eyes becoming profound with something Percival saw often in the dark eyes of his village storyteller, who traveled all over the five kingdoms and who possessed more knowledge and wisdom than anyone Percival knew.

At these words, Percival felt an ominous presence shift in the air that did very little to comfort him, and Will, his brow furrowed, swung sharply to face his younger friend.

After what seemed like an interminable silence as the two argued with their gazes, Percival felt his legs cramping and fingers beginning to burn. If he was going to do something, he had better do it fast before his strength faded.

Besides, he didn't want to be _rescued_ by the younger boys. More than that, he _did _want to say he finished climbing the wall without aid.

And if he asked the boys to run for help and _Tor_ heard about it…

"I'm going to try it," he called up.

Before he could lose any of his courage or determination, Percival took a deep breath and did just as Will said: go fast.

He went _too_ fast.

So fast that he misjudged his weight on the loose rock and stepped far too hard down upon it.

It was incredible that with as _fast _as it happened—in the blink of an eye, it seemed—Percival could feel his heart accelerate and that he managed to throw his hands up.

It was only later that he would realize that, had Merlin not been there that day, he would have fallen, broken some bones, and hit his head on the rocks, which might have killed him on impact. If not, he would have died of blood loss as the two boys ran for help…

Either way, he was dead.

But… it was not his fate to die that day.

So, with his heart rising into his throat, Percival couldn't even gasp when he felt the rock miraculously pushing _back_ on his foot to propel him upward and when a thin hand shot out with lightning reflects to grab his wrist.

Without looking up or thinking about how the rock, which had been falling _down_, was now pushing _up_, Percival took advantage of the strange assistance, quickly found another place for his hand, and with the two boys' help, he heaved himself onto the ledge.

When he felt solid, sturdy ground beneath his back, a giddy, relieved giggle burst from his lips, and he looked up to Merlin, who had just released his hand…

Only to have his breath catch again—for there in the strange boy's eyes, the telltale gold of magic lingered.

His town was a trading town, a market town. They thrived on travelers—merchants and otherwise…_smugglers_ even—selling and buying goods. In that respect, Percival wasn't unused to seeing Druids pass through. Nor was he unused to seeing small bits of magic.

That didn't mean that he felt comfortable around it. At all. It was frowned upon—magic—and he was taught from a young age…

The Druids were good people, though, and their magic wasn't corrupt or evil. He knew that. They continuously proved it whenever they came to Andefera for herbs or supplies.

But _that_—even Percival, who knew little about magic, knew that Merlin…

It was unheard of—what he did. On instinct. Without a word.

"Percy?" Merlin's voice broke through his thoughts. "Percy!"

Percival blinked repeatedly and heard Will cussing in absolute incredulity at what had just happened beside.

Pale as a prince's pristine linen sheet, Percival gaped and couldn't do more than _stare _in a mixture of horror, gratitude, and shock as Merlin, the golden sheen in his eyes now faded and hidden behind their original blue, knelt at his side, leaned over him, and asked concernedly, "Are you alright?"

Will skidded to Merlin's side and shouted, "He's not damn alright, Merlin! He nearly fell of the bloody cliff, and he could have nearly _died. _It—it—Oh gods."

He didn't see, Percival realized with a jolt. Will didn't know. He didn't see the magic…

The magic that Merlin used to save his life.

Percival, feeling a sudden calm pervading him, propped himself on one elbow and stopped Will from his rambling. "Will, calm down. I'm _fine_. Thanks to Merlin."

After hearing that he was okay and catching sight of Percival's green eyes boring into him, an abrupt change came over Merlin, who released a puff of air in relief, stiffened again a second afterward, and avoided looking directly into Percival's eyes.

It took Percival a moment to understand: Merlin was _afraid_—afraid beyond Percival's comprehension. Afraid that he _saw_ it. Afraid that he saw what he had done and that he would call him out on it…

No. A rush of anger and pain flashed through Percival. It wasn't right that Merlin, a naturally bright, sunny, pure-hearted, cheeky, compassionate, and brave child, should be _that _afraid of himself—of _who he was_…

No one deserved that. No one deserved to be subjected to that terror, day after day.

And what did the magic matter any way? It made him special, and judging by the _goodness_ in Merlin, Percival could see him using it for the greatest of deeds. For the best of causes.

"Merlin," Percival said gently.

When the boy looked up cautiously from under his fringe of dark hair, Percival smiled at him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, and with the most sincere tone he had ever used in his life, he whispered, "_Thank you_."

The young sorcerer's eyes widened momentarily in surprise and flew closed for the briefest second. When they flew open again, all fear was gone—he assumed Percival didn't see the magic, and the older boy damn well meant to keep it that way—and, unreserved, he flung his arms about Percival's neck.

"I'm so glad you're alright." He drew away, and smiling lopsidedly, he added with a cheeky tone and playful eyes, "You shouldn't scare your friends like that, Percy. Not that we didn't deserve it."

"You're blaming yourself?" Percival asked in disbelief. "Merlin, don't. It was an accident. And it was as your mother said—an adventure."

Merlin, whose eyes brightened with good-humor, tossed back his head and laughed, and even Will, who seemed to be still in a little shock, said slowly, "Speaking of mothers, we probably should get back."

Looking down at his muddy clothes, Percival groaned, "Do we have to? Mother is going to scold me."

Merlin looked at him like he was a madman. "You nearly fall to your death, and you're frightened about getting yelled at by your mother. Unbelievable."

With a mixture of a scowl and a smile on his face, Percival pushed himself upward and joked, "Near-death experiences, I can handle. But my mother?"

And it was so that the three boys, practically forgetting the entire event already and dismissing the reality of how much danger Percival had been in, trotted back to Ealdor, where Branwen, her face red upon seeing Percival's clothing, was waiting.

Percival winced when he saw her anger, but he was surprised when Hunith's laugh at the boys' appearance made Branwen relent to a merciful smile.

He owed Hunith. But more than that—

Percival said his farewells to Will, who dashed off when his father beckoned, and on an impulse, before entering the village, he drew Merlin aside and said again, "Really, Merlin, I can't thank you enough…I am indebted to you."

Chuckling, Merlin teased, "You sound just like one of the mighty, noble knights of Camelot, Percy. You owe me nothing."

How wrong he was.

With his green eyes glistening with a newfound loyalty, Percival vowed, "One day, Merlin, when I'm old enough to leave my family home and fight my own battles and choose my own causes, don't forget that you can call on me. Anytime, anyplace, anytime...if you ever need me, I'll be there (2)."

Speechless and touched, Merlin only could smile in response, and he said, "I really don't know what to—"

Smirking, Percival flung his arm over his shoulders. "Besides, you still owe me a race," he said before grinding his knuckles into Merlin's scalp.

The younger boy wiggled free and promised, "Next time."

Branwen was calling to him, and after acknowledging her call with a quick wave, he held out his hand to Merlin and responded, "Next time."

~…~

Percival never saw Merlin again, and after some time, he nearly forgot about the trip to Ealdor and the scrawny boy with the strange eyes and beautiful magic…especially when he devoted himself to swordsmanship after Cenred, whom his father had defied after he and the other soldiers were ordered to slaughter innocents, killed his family.

His father, who stood up for what was right, Branwen and the baby Emily, Tor…his role model, his obnoxious, overbearing brother Tor…

They were all dead, and he was lost. Until he met Lancelot, who was a wandering soul himself and who he had a lot in common with.

And who also, after travelling with Percival, now a quiet, thoughtful young man—a man who had become dedicated to fighting for those who couldn't protect themselves—as opposed to the competitive child he had been, began to tell him stories about Camelot. About the Prince Arthur, the maid Guinevere, good and evil Morgana, and the Prince's manservant—

"_Merlin_?" Percival blurted that night in the inn. His forceful jolt of surprise made his knees collide with the underside of the table, which made both his drink and Lancelot's tumble over and spill.

Lancelot quirked an eyebrow, and righting his goblet, he said, "Yes, Merlin. He was the one who tried to help me become a Knight...and who helped me slay the griffin. He keeps in touch with me."

With a spinning head, Percival stared at Lancelot, who peered at him both cautiously and interestedly, "Do you know him?"

Overwhelmed by the memories and by the new information, Percival ran his large hand through his short tan hair. "I—I don't know," he managed to breathe.

Snorting, Lancelot jabbed his spoon at the larger man and said with a knowing smile, "I don't believe you. Not only is Merlin a hard enough name to stumble upon, but also…he himself is a hard person to forget."

"You're right," Percival agreed softly with a small smile at Lancelot's joke about Merlin's name—a name he faintly remembered mocking to himself years and years ago. "I was young. We met briefly—and he saved my life."

"Sounds like him," Lancelot said.

Percival's misty eyes suddenly snapped back into reality, and he yelped, "And you said he's working as Prince Arthur's servant?"

"Yes," Lancelot said slowly, his brow crinkling at his new friend's violent reaction.

"Arthur of _Camelot_," he specified.

When Lancelot nodded, Percival, without thinking, exploded in a hissing undertone, "Is he bloody _mad_?"

Putting down his spoon and pushing his plate away, Lancelot folded his arms before him and scanned Percival's face, and when the dark eyes met green, they both knew what they other knew and that the other knew at all.

Both of them read in the other man's eyes that the magic was nothing to them. It was Merlin they cared for.

And so Lancelot's reply was nothing more than a bright smile and words pulsing with passionate loyalty and devotion. "Some say so. And not only because of _that_. Personally, I think he and Arthur together—more than any men in this world…"

He trailed off and, after searching for words, continued, "There are a lot of men worth fighting for, but there are only a few any would willingly die for."

Lancelot's words burned in Percival the next few months as they travelled together. They didn't know where they were going half of the time, and they didn't know why they went where they did go.

And yet, both of them knew that sometime—Merlin would need them.

Need them, he did, and Percival was only too ready to keep the promise he made to Merlin all those years ago.

Upon seeing him, Percival recognized Merlin immediately, but the young man, just as oddly eyed and scrawny and brave and good-humored as the boy he once knew, obviously did not recognize _him_.

He greeted Arthur with a smile, and Arthur, who permitted Percival to use his first name without any title, already had Percival's respect.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin, his gaze fixed on Arthur, with a small knowing smile on his face.

"What are you doing here?" the blonde Prince asked to Lancelot.

"It was me," Merlin said, jogging up and flashing Percival a fleeting smile of greeting. "I sent for him."

Arthur might not have said thank you to Merlin specifically, but the gratitude shining from those sapphire eyes was plenty for the young sorcerer.

Percival, being the observant man he was, watched the Prince and servant interact and saw it all—through the banter, through the smirking and scowling, through the quarrelling…there was also laughing, joking, teasing, smiling, and friendship.

No. This was brotherhood. All of them together, and it made his heart swell to be so quickly admitted into theirs.

Later, when they continued on foot to look for a new hideout, Merlin, whose eyes gleamed with curiosity and puzzlement, fell back to walk with Percival, and grinning, he said, "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Merlin."

Suddenly, under the gaze of those wise blue eyes, it was almost as if he were that shy, awkward boy in Ealdor again, and he responded, "Percival. But you already knew that."

"Did I?" Merlin blurted excitedly.

"Yeah," Percival said slowly, giving him an odd look (it was good to know he was the same boy who earned his loyalty years and years ago), "Lancelot did call me Percival, didn't he?"

A flush reddened Merlin's cheeks, and he apologized hastily, "No, no! I _knew _that, sorry." With a sheepish grin, he added exactly as he had in Ealdor, "I just can't get over the feeling we've met before."

A devious grin worked its way onto his face. The magic—that could wait. No one but Lancelot seemed to know about it, and his friend had told him that, under no circumstances, was he to speak openly of it to _anyone_. Not even to Merlin, who Lancelot was sure would have a small heart attack should he tell him and might get distracted from their goal of defeating Morgana.

This, however, was _too _good to let wait.

"This time, you have," Percival said, feeling happy when Merlin's eyes widened and his mind reeled.

_His turn_, his mind chuckled.

"Years ago in Ealdor," the giant man added, "before all of this. It is time the debt was repaid. You saved my life that day, and I told you I'd be there if you ever had need of me."

Finally, a blinding light of recognition flared in Merlin's wide blue eyes, and he, grinning, said in disbelief, "_Percy_?"

Percival flinched and muttered, "You know, I still hate that name."

Merlin recovered quickly and jabbed, "How was I to know that amongst your stuttering that there was more to your name?"

"You never gave me the chance to finish it!" Percival laughed, slugging Merlin on the shoulder.

"And you, if I remember correctly," Merlin said thoughtfully, "still owe me a race."

~…~

It wasn't until after Percival was knighted and settled into Camelot and Morgana and her immortal army _mysteriously _defeated that Merlin and Percival finally caught up with their tales and had their race.

Merlin won, as Will had predicted.

And it came as a surprise to their brotherhood of Knights that Percival only tolerated any nickname when it was Merlin—and Merlin alone—who called him Percy.

* * *

(1) Translation: a market town usually built on the banks of rivers (Did you know that Ealdor means elder/parent/head of the family? Piece of trivia for those who care… :P)

(2) Quote from the character Ray Jackson in the 1988 movie Bloodsport, which I don't own.

Hope you've liked! And I hope it wasn't too rushed/OOC. :) Forgive my mistakes...it's late. :D Those who had prompts for me: I'm sorry if they take some time. :D

Oz out.


	21. Experimenting

AN: A drabble challenge from the HeartofCamelot site. An idea jumped on me immediately, so sorry for those who're waiting for their own prompts to be written. :)

* * *

Prompt: "Magic Goes Awry"

Characters: Arthur, Gwaine, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal.

Word Count: 416

* * *

**Experimenting**

Arthur's blazing sapphire eyes narrowed into slits, and he said in a deadly voice, "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I'm not his bloody _keeper_! He's a perfectly capable Court Sorcerer now, and he can take care of himself. Now, _if_ you don't mind—"

"Gwaine," Arthur said sternly (despite himself, his panicked worry colored his exasperated tone, making him far less intimidating than he would've liked to be), "I haven't seen him since _yesterday _evening."

"Not my fault you lost him."

Given Gwaine's apparent apathy, the King knew that _he_, at least, knew where Merlin was and was covering for him, and suddenly, the worry was overcome with suspicion.

There was only one reason Merlin would want Gwaine to cover for him.

He was doing something he _shouldn't _be doing, and when Merlin did that…

"He _isn't_," Arthur groaned.

"Isn't _what_, Arthur?"

"Stop playing me, Gwaine."

"I'm not playing _anythin_'," Gwaine protested. "It's Merlin who's playing with magic tricks that you wouldn't approve of."

Having realized what slipped out, a horrified Gwaine shouted, "Wait!"

But Arthur was already out the door and running—running to Merlin's tower, which he had given his friend as new living quarters and a place to practice magic…

But no. Merlin was _beyond _practicing, it seemed. Instead, the idiot wanted to _experiment_ with magic.

He was learning to hate that word coming from Merlin's mouth, and after the last explosion, he had mandated that Merlin talk to him _whenever _he wanted to "experiment."

"MERLIN!" Arthur shouted angrily as he crashed through the door.

He expected to catch Merlin in the act. He expected to feel smug victory that he _did _catch him in the act. What he had _not _expected to see was a shaggy black dog with Merlin's cobalt eyes and red neckerchief wagging his tail at him.

When all Arthur could do was stare incredulously, the dog rolled its eyes in a Merlin fashion and barked reproachfully at him.

"Mate, I'm sorry!" Gwaine's voice sounded behind him. "I couldn't—"

Gwaine screeched to a halt beside him and began to laugh hysterically upon seeing Merlin's predicament, and Arthur, who was snapped out of his stunned state by the bark, tried to hide a growing grin and instead attempted to scowl at his warlock, lunged forward, grabbed him by the collar, and said as he dragged him out of the room (for Gaius was undoubtedly going to hear about this), "You are an _idiot_."

* * *

AN: :D Hope you liked this!


	22. Sir Knight

AN: A belated bday present for Roe/Tarzanalot, who asked me to write a Lancelot fic/drabble for him. Killed two birds with one stone with this one as it fits with this prompt too. :P

* * *

Prompt: "The Meaning in a Kiss"/ belated bday present for Tarzanalot on the HeartofCamelot site

Characters: Lancelot, and you'll see.

Ratings/Warnings: Set mid-s3, the tiniest, tiniest bit of Gwencelot (if you squint through a microscope).

Word Count: 433

* * *

**Sir Knight**

With his ashy, dirtied chainmail clanking and lungs stinging from the lack of air, Lancelot ducked his head to hide his tear-streaked face and to protect his dark eyes from the smoke, and after coughing and shifting the last child higher on his hip, Lancelot's teeth gritted in fierce determination.

The little girl's face pressed against his shoulder, and even through his chainmail, he could feel her trembling in fear.

This was the last one. The last one. All the others were outside. Safe. The other man—the one who looked at Lancelot with brilliant green eyes and took the first step into the burning building with him—had just taken some out.

Just him left. And one more.

"Hurry!" the man's voice called urgently.

Withholding another cough and gathering the last of his strength, Lancelot dodged a fallen bit of roof and made his last mad dash out into the sunlight, where women, men, and children all were sobbing with relief and surrounding their giant of a savior.

One woman was waiting for him, and she wordlessly reached for her daughter, muttering, "Thank you, and bless you" over and over into the child's hair through tears.

Lancelot released a dry cough and felt a large hand gripping his forearm. Turning, he saw that it was his brave helper, whose watering eyes and ash-smeared face looked concerned.

"You alright, there?"

The shorter man smiled weakly, and nodding said, "I'm fi—"

Feeling a tug at his sleeve, Lancelot turned to see the wide eyes of the last one to be saved from the fires, and she, now free of her mother's arms, smiled toothily at him. "Are you a Knight?" she asked innocently.

Lancelot laughed, and briefly, his mind flickered to a certain golden-haired Prince, his incredible manservant, and a beautiful serving girl before he said, "No, I'm not."

"You should be," she said confidently. Her mother's eyes shone as she watched. "You and that man—" she pointed "—both."

Smiling broadly and driven by impulse, Lancelot knelt on the grass and kissed the child's blonde head. "Go to your mother, little one."

The girl swiftly flung his arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, "Thank you, sir Knight."

After she scampered away, Lancelot turned back to the other man, who grinned amicably and said shyly and mischievously at the same time, "I don't think I caught your name."

Smirking at his companion's sense of humor—already, he sensed something between them, a bond beyond mutual respect—he held out his hand, "Lancelot."

He met it halfway and responded, "Percival."

* * *

AN: Percy's an intriguing character to me lately. ^^


	23. Purple Smoke

AN: I love coincidence. So much. This is another Heart of Camelot drabble challenge. The challenge? Write a drabble centered around the color, character, and emotion that had been randomly generated for you.

Mine was:** Percival, purple, confused**

And so... you therefore have ANOTHER piece of Percival-backstory, which is UNRELATED to my others, to read!

* * *

Prompt: "The Full Spectrum": Described above in the Author's Note.

Characters/Pairings: Percival and Lancelot

Ratings/warnings: T; rather dark

Word Count: 301

* * *

**Purple Smoke**

Smoke rose in twisting grey-purple plumes into the sky, and had not those plumes been accompanied by the rotten stench of burning flesh and spilt blood and had he allowed himself to slip into a fantastical land of imagination and rainbows and happy-endings—to escape this horror that was reality—Percival might have thought them rather beautiful.

But this, unfortunately, _was _the reality. His village—all slaughtered. His friends, his family… now a pile of burning bodies and ash.

"I should have been here," Percival muttered numbly, his eyes fixated on the purple smoke.

His companion, a wandering soul he had met on his travels abroad to further his swordsmanship, gripped his forearm supportively and said in a mild, comforting, and wise tone, "You would have died with them."

Percival's eyes slid closed at the new sting of harsh reality, and, fighting tears of helpless frustration, sadness, and, above all, confusion, all he could do was grit his teeth.

_Why_? He repeated to himself. _Why?_

That wasn't the question. No, he knew why. He had heard that they had stood against Cenred. Theydid the right thing…and had thus reaped the repercussions of doing the right thing.

And yet the question of _why _played about the edges of his conscience.

_Why were men so cruel? Why did they resort to such violence when their pride mandated it? Why was it necessary to behave like monsters and the foulest of beasts to their own kind? Why make _this _point—the point of power—over and over again? _

_Why call it humanity when humans weren't _humane?

"Don't lose your faith in humanity, Percival," Lancelot whispered. "For every evil man, there exists at least a dozen _good _men ready to help carry us all into a golden age of peace."

The purple smoke blurred.


	24. One Inheritance

AN: For Impulse53669... Impulse, I kinda got sidetracked here, but I hope you like it! :D

* * *

Prompt: "Hmmm I wonder if Arthur ever had to have dance lessons."

Characters/Pairings: Arwen, Merlin, and… Agravaine. *sheepish grin*

Ratings/Warnings: Agravaine's POV, so this, considering the prompt… is _weird_; mixture of a missing scene from 4x09 and a scene from 4x11

Word Count: 580-ish

* * *

**One Inheritance**

Agravaine, smirking lightly at the significant progress of the plan, entered the feasting chambers, where he immediately caught sight of his nephew and that visiting princess, Mithian, who was cleaning up something that Arthur had spilled on himself.

The idiot servant boy seemed most displeased with that, but the older, slimy man just shrugged. Taking great pleasure in interrupting the _sweet _(a shudder possessed Agravaine) moment, he updated the King about the status of the vaults.

Being quite satisfied and smug at the trusting and grateful tone in Arthur's tone, it surprised him that almost immediately the smile transformed into a teasing smirk and that his sapphire eyes shone mischievously.

Agravaine blamed _Merlin _for that nonsense.

"…We're to have dancing," Arthur was saying with that foolish grin of his, "and I hear that your _jig_ used to be something to behold."

Completely taken aback, Agravaine floundered for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes at the smirk growing on his nephew's face.

_Of _course_ Uther would tell him _that _particular story_.

Needless to say, he _didn't _dance.

But then, neither did Arthur.

His mind flickered back to a few weeks previously, when he had walked in to seeing Guinevere, who wouldn't allow Arthur to get out of a dance at their approaching wedding, leading the blonde King, who trod on her feet and winced, in a slow twirl in the middle of his bedchambers.

Merlin, of course, grinning that peculiar impish grin of his, had sat idly on his master's bed and had called out "encouragement" between fits of giggles.

Guinevere, however, had ignored the idiot and had looked like the sunrise on the first day of summer, and patiently, she had led the _clumsy _King, who had looked absolutely mortified, frustrated, and, judging by his continuous mutters of 'shut up, Merlin,' annoyed.

After watching the three interact for a moment longer with the strangest feeling brushing at his heart and after chuckling quietly when Arthur had finally exploded at Merlin, who had subsequently surprised them _all _by revealing that _he _could dance, Agravaine, who caught himself beginning to smile almost… _fondly_, had hurriedly backed out of the chambers and stalked away.

As he had walked, he couldn't help but think that, in this, at least, Arthur had inherited one thing from him.

Knowing that Arthur was waiting expectantly for a response, he dragged himself to the present and made an excuse. "Er… 'used' is the word, Sire. A—Alas, I'm not as nimble as I once was."

"_Nonsense_!" Arthur tortured him further teasingly.

A brief smile flickered onto his lips, and before he knew it, the flustered uncle said hastily, "I do feel that dancing is best preformed in youth and appreciated in age."

Arthur didn't seem to catch the hint, but he and Mithian laughed.

Mindful that he still had much to do, Agravaine inclined his head and left the chambers, and as he paced away, the same smile began—

No. The smile slipped immediately from his face.

Now was _not_ the time to begin to become affectionate to the boy-King. Now was not the time to wonder why he had had such pleasure in having Arthur tease him like that…or why he craved that relationship, the relationship that his nephew had with Merlin, the one he secretly envied…

No, it was too late for such weakness. Morgana was waiting, Helios was coming, and he—he had work to do…

To bring Arthur and Camelot to its knees.


	25. Shouldn't Have

AN: Wow, this ended up turning out a LOT deeper than I meant it to. :P

* * *

Prompt: "Ink Upon Parchment:" Compose a letter from one character to another

Characters/Pairings: Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Bit dark at the beginning, Post-Reveal

Word Count: 362

* * *

**Shouldn't Have**

The sun rose that morning. It shouldn't have had the gall or the energy to do so… not after the blackness and the crossed silver blades and the blood and fire and thunder of the night.

It was all so natural. So normal. Peach tinged gold light filtered in through the chamber windows, and its brightness and warming, comforting energy surprised him. With unseeing sapphire eyes clouded with exhaustion and flickering with dazedness, Arthur sat heavily on his large bed and gingerly ran his fingertips over the crisp white bandage coating his forearm.

The blade had been poisoned. He shouldn't have survived.

He shouldn't have survived to see this morning that shouldn't have come.

And yet he did.

And surprisingly, there were few casualties.

After such a battle, after facing such a threat, it seemed impossible. Maybe it was so much harder because it was his first battle without M—

No, he wouldn't think of _him_.

But it _was_ true, and instead of being relieved that his Knights, his Queen, and his people and city had survived, Arthur found himself in a state of awed disbelief...

Until he caught sight of a piece of parchment sitting perfectly folded in the exact center of his desk and found the necessary motivation to pick it up and flip it open…

_You're welcome._

A brief smirk flickered across Arthur's face at the insolence that practically _screamed _through the parchment, and realization dawning upon him, he read on:

_Did you honestly believe that banishing me would change anything, Arthur? I am never far, and I will be here to protect you and your own. Until the end. Whether you want me or not. I can only hope that one day, I can prove to you that_…_that_ _is who I am and what my magic is_. _Give my well-wishes to the Knights and Gwen, and take care of yourself, prat, or I'll have to illegally infiltrate Camelot to smack some sense into you._

_Merlin _

Something wet trailed down the King's cheek, and without thinking…

He called for a horse to be prepared, and suddenly, he opened his eyes for the first time and _welcomed _the new morning.

* * *

AN: I know I have a few prompt requests that need to be done, so forgive me for taking my time with them. ;)


	26. Shouldn't Have To

AN: I'm so sorry I haven't responded to your reviews, and though I told myself I'd never do this, I'm sending out a collective thank you to you all who reviewed the last ficlet. I'm very pleased you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

In fact, a few of you liked it so much that you wanted a continuation, so here it is! ;D And yes, the title IS an intended pun! ;)

* * *

Prompt: Continuation of #25

Characters/ Pairings: Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, and Arthur

Warnings/Ratings: Bit of BAMF Merlin, two parts: one set directly after the battle and the other set the next morning (an hour or two after #25's time, if that makes sense)

Word Count: 1,557

* * *

**S****houldn't Have To**

"You can't have expected to win, Morgana."

The witch, her icy green eyes blazing with loathing so intense it probably could have peeled some poor soul's face off, spat, "This isn't over."

Unfazed by the glare, Merlin said grimly, "It never is, is it?"

Through the pool of water, Morgana's lips twitched into a smirk, and her image began to be disrupted by ripples. "Never, Emrys."

He grit his teeth at the discomforting sound of his Druidic name passing through her lips, and a steely, yet mischievous glint hardened in his eyes as a smile of his own slipped onto his face. Timing it just right, he added cheekily, "Maybe next time, you'll be courageous enough to face me yourself instead of hiding behind your sister's magic mirror."

The connection completely broke just after he saw her beautiful, cold features twist into an expression of complete _wrath _at his barb, and though he suspected that he would regret that later, it felt ever so satisfying to know he had gotten the last word and had successfully fractured her cool-headed façade.

Immediately turning his head to the orange glow originating from the direction of the citadel, Merlin watched the remainder of the daemons, each with an armed rider on its back, frantically fleeing from the magic of Emrys, and without pausing to so much as allow his prancing heart, adrenaline, and blood to calm, he took a step forward, summoned his magic, and followed that sixth sense—that panicked pricking in his mind—that told him whenever the prat was in trouble…

It was really a handy trick, teleporting. It was rather a shame—no, it was more ironic that it was this skill that he had been practicing and perfecting when Arthur had discovered his magic and subsequently banished him…

Not that that made any difference anyway. He would respect Arthur's decision—he didn't blame him, not in the slightest—but that didn't mean that he wouldn't enter the city whenever he damn well needed to.

And right now, he _definitely _needed to.

His footstep landed in the courtyard, and as the gold faded from his eyes, Merlin scanned for the familiar head of blonde hair lying amongst the unconscious and dead.

He found Arthur within seconds, and after seeing that it was _worse _than he thought—he could see the sheen of sweat coating his brow, he could hear the gurgling gasps, and he could sense the disgusting magic tainting and spreading in his blood—Merlin ran and threw himself to his knees beside his King.

Merlin whispered a spell that would purge Arthur's wound of the poison, and the gold of his eyes, bright with the power of the magic, illuminated the King's pale face.

Completely exhausted from the task, the warlock's hand fell from the King, and his eyelids and head drooped briefly before a cluttering stone caught Merlin's attention.

His eyes flickered upward to see Guinevere, her delicate hand over her mouth…her eyes wide with—with disbelief? With awe? With happiness? With sadness or shock? With disgust and fear? Merlin didn't know.

He didn't know how she reacted to the revelation of his secret in the first place. Arthur hadn't given her the chance to react or him the chance to see her reaction. But now, she _saw_…

Standing abruptly, Merlin, feeling as horrible as he did only a week ago when it had been Arthur standing there looking at him like that, backed away, and fingering the letter he had ready in his pocket, he whispered, "You didn't see me; I wasn't here."

Gwen nodded slowly, and after taking a look at her partially healed, unconscious husband and at the last daemons visible in the sky, she darted to him and enveloped him in a warm hug. "Thank you, Merlin."

Smiling weakly, Merlin pulled away and pressed the parchment into her hand. "Put it somewhere he can find it for me?"

By the time Gwen inquiringly looked back up from the slip of parchment to her friend, he was gone.

~…~

Merlin slept. The amount of magic he had used to frighten the daemons away was immense, and the fact that he had healed Arthur on top of that…

Yes, Merlin slept, and it was far too soon that he awoke to freezing fingers and toes and shivering limbs.

Growling irritably to himself, the warlock sat up, rubbed his numb toes through his boot, and huddled further into the cloak he had stolen from Arthur before he left.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't the _best _idea to camp by the Lake of Avalon when the first freeze was so quickly approaching, but it was necessary. Especially when he hadn't known when Morgana would attack. Perhaps he should move elsewhere…to the hut, he remembered. The hut where he and Lancelot had hid from the Dorocha, where he had played 'Old Merlin…'

Nodding to himself, Merlin decided that later that afternoon, he would move there.

In the meantime, however, he'd get a fire started. A fire sounded very pleasant.

Completely unaware of his surroundings and still half-asleep, Merlin meandered and tripped further into the forest surrounding the Lake and collected as much firewood as he could carry (which was a lot, considering he was holding up a good portion of it in the air with magic) before heading back.

Only to find that he was no longer alone.

And suddenly, Merlin felt wide-awake, and he stared at a wind-kissed Arthur, who was waiting patiently on the shoreline and looking out across the waters.

He was here. _He _was here. Arthur was _here_.

After gaping for a moment in confusion and shock, a slow smile started to show at the corners of his mouth, and his heart, soaring with joy, directly betrayed his mind, which reminded him that he shouldn't get his hopes up.

There were many things he could have said to get Arthur's attention. Half of him wanted to chuck a piece of firewood at the back of his head. Which idiot had let him ride _alone_ when he was still recovering from his injury?

Merlin suspected that no one had even known—well, no one who knew of how badly he had been injured, anyway—about the King's spontaneous decision to take a ride.

The other half of him wanted to scare the living daylights out of him... just because that'd be amusing. He hadn't had a good laugh in a _full week_.

Instead, when he opened his mouth, he ended up blurting incredulously, "How the hell did you find me?"

Arthur didn't even jump, and he didn't turn around. For a moment, he was silent, and a perplexed crease appeared between his eyebrows.

"I—I followed it," the King said softly.

Not understanding, Merlin's brow furrowed, and Arthur continued, "Your magic guided me. Or at least, my sense of it, I think. I wouldn't know. I just rode, and here I am."

Arthur finally turned to him. The sapphire eyes only fleetingly rested on the floating pile of wood, and Merlin, suddenly very uncomfortable, grinned sheepishly and unconsciously allowed the wood to fall to the ground.

Guilt and regret filtered into the King's eyes. "Don't."

"…_Don't_?" Merlin, who hadn't realized what he had done so automatically under Arthur's gaze, repeated slowly. "Arthur, you're making absolutely no sense, and I'd rather you just leave me in my peaceful—ha, sorry, was it _supposed _to be peaceful? It hasn't been very peaceful at _all, _has it? Well, then, I'd rather you just leave me to my not-so-peaceful exile and—"

Looking more amused than exasperated by Merlin's rambling, Arthur said, "Shut up, Merlin."

"That's not very nice."

A smirk flitted across his King's features. "Get over it, and let me explain."

"I'm all ears, then," Merlin muttered, crossing his arms expectantly.

That seemed to unbalance Arthur for a moment, and slowly, he slipped Merlin's letter from his pocket and rolled it around in his fingers.

"You wrote this."

"_Congratulations, _Arthur," Merlin, trying to hide a broad grin and failing miserably, said with heavy sarcasm. "You can read. And?"

"And you shouldn't—you shouldn't have to…" Frustration flashed across his features, and instead of continuing that thought or attempting to 'explain'—what a strange definition of 'explain' he had—more, Arthur took two large strides to shorten the distance between them and pulled Merlin into an embrace.

"Thank you. For being there."

"Always, Arthur," Merlin said gently.

The King pulled away, and he finished, "You shouldn't have to be afraid anymore. I'm sorry…for that."

"That wasn't your fault."

Shaking his head, Arthur denied, "No. I see the truth now, Merlin. I was a fool. I was blinded by hurt—it wasn't so much the magic, Merlin, do you know? I don't really _care _about that. I was blinded by hurt…just as you were blinded by fear. Fear of us...us all. And without even mentioning my father, _I_ myself hadn't given you any reason _not _to be afraid. I'm sorry that I hadn't—I can only hope—"

Tears beaded at Merlin's eyes, and having heard enough, he smiled and said, "I forgave you long ago, prat."

Smiling broadly, the King jerked his head to the tree-line and said with a smirk, "You ready to come home?"

There were _two_ horses waiting in the trees.

* * *

AN: Forgive my mistakes. I bet this is full of 'em. :D


	27. Two Drunks in the Tavern

For RavenclawMerlinFan. So sorry it took me so long to get to you! ;)

* * *

Prompt: "What's going to happen once Gwaine gets drunk in the tavern now he knows Merlin's secret?"

Characters/Ratings: Gwaine, Merlin, the Knights (no Gwen, no Arthur)

Ratings/Warnings: Continuation of Two Suns In the Sky (#14) and Two Idiots in the Physician's Chambers (#17). Also, you might recognize an idea I've used before in SMN. Some angst to start and then general ridiculousness :P

Word Count: 1085

* * *

**Two Drunks in the Tavern**

It hadn't been easy, but Gwaine had finally done it.

He had done the impossible.

He had done the unthinkable.

When he had teasingly joked earlier that day, "If you don't, then I'll tell Arthur what it is you're _really _doing when Gaius tells him you're in the tavern," Gwaine had completely unintentionally found it.

The perfect blackmail.

Merlin's weakness.

"_One _drink, Gwaine. No more," Merlin had said sternly.

"But, mate—!"

Merlin had taken ahold of Gwaine's arm and gently tugged him to the side and out of earshot of anyone who might pass by. Those stormy blue eyes had scanned his eager features, and he had said in a low, almost _imploring _tone, "I _can't_, Gwaine."

"I trust you, Mer—"

"But I don't trust myself!" Merlin had hissed heatedly through his teeth.

Having been taken aback, Gwaine had bit his tongue, furrowed his brow, and frowned as Merlin, running his hand through his black hair, had briefly turned to look over his shoulder.

"When I was younger, there—when I had less control—I dunno how to explain it, Gwaine," the servant-warlock had rambled. "I have so much control over it now that relaxing my hold on it, even for a second—I know it makes no sense, but getting drunk _wouldn't _be a good idea, Gwaine."

"I don't believe you'd hurt anyone," Gwaine had said thoughtfully.

Truth be told, he didn't know if that was true or not He hadn't _seen _a lot of Merlin's magic since the day in Gaius' chambers that he had unintentionally revealed it, and despite Gwaine's eagerness and insistent pleads to see more—because he was _fascinated_. It was all really interesting and _amazing_—Merlin was...

Well, Gwaine couldn't blame him, really, but it did pain him.

"And I don't want to take that risk, so I'll agree to _one _drink." A lopsided smile spread across his face, and he added jokingly, "I _am _a lightweight, after all."

Having known he wouldn't get anything else out of him (the stubborn ass) and glad that Merlin at least _agreed _to go to the tavern at all, Gwaine had smirked broadly and had laid his arm around Merlin's shoulders. "This is going to be fun!"

And yes, that was the story of how it was that _Merlin _joined him and the Knights in the tavern that night to _actually _relax a bit and drink and just spend some time with friends instead of worrying about Arthur and Morgana and whoever the hell was next in line to attack Camelot.

The others, who had been in on Gwaine's plan to include Merlin in their adventure to the tavern that evening and who hadn't expected Gwaine to be very successful because _they _hadn't been too successful, sent looks of disbelief at a smug Gwaine, and they immediately welcomed the two to their bench.

And despite Merlin's insistence that he have only one drink… somehow, after Gwaine's head had long since started buzzing pleasantly and after jokes and witty insults had long since started to be flung—somehow, someway, Merlin found another in his hands.

It happened when he started the third drink. Merlin was laughing at something that Leon had said to Percival when it happened.

He hiccupped.

But, of course, being a warlock, it just had to be a _warlocky _hiccup.

The jug of wine that had just been purchased by a large fellow hosting a large party of fellow large fellows exploded.

Loudly. From _across_ the room.

The whole tavern went completely silent at the noise, and simultaneously, Gwaine exclaimed far too loudly, "Merlin! Care—ful."

Horrified and suddenly regaining sobriety, Merlin had enough sense about him to hide his golden eyes from everyone before looking back at the mess he had made.

The large fellow, his squinty pig eyes narrowing and zeroing in on the gaping servant, immediately stood from his seat and stared aggressively.

_Dammit_.

"It seems to me _you _had something to do with this," the man said with a drunken slur. "So tell me: what the hell was that, _Mer_lin?"

When Merlin didn't respond, the man slammed his hands down on the table. "That wine was expensive, boy! You owe me money, you—"

"That's enough, now," Elyan interrupted calmly. "Merlin was all the way across the room. How in the world could he have done _anything _from here?"

"_Magic_," the stranger growled without looking in Elyan's direction. "What else _could _it be? That's it, isn't it? Answer me!"

Merlin, stiff with terror, stuttered, "I—I don't know what—"

Oh, Merlin…

Thinking quickly, Gwaine stood and announced loudly, "You're lucky it wasn't your _head_!"

The roguish Knight heard Merlin's sharp inhale from behind him, and after feeling a prick of guilt for putting his mate through this, he put on a fool's smile and added with a grandiose gesture of his arms, "Because _Mur_lin here could blow up _all _your heads! With his secret magic, he could turn pots into pans and cows into raindrops and—and I bet he could—"

Immediately, the whole tavern, who _knew _that Arthur's clumsy, loyal, kind-hearted, and friendly servant couldn't _possibly _be capable of such things (it was hilarious to even imagine!), erupted into laughter, and the random exploding jug was forgotten in favor of watching Gwaine's drunken shenanigans.

Evoric, shaking his head and chuckling, brushed past the man who had threatened Merlin. His eyes shifted to Gwaine, and he said with twinkling eyes, "I think it's about that time. You alright, there, Merlin?"

Merlin, his eyes shining with relief, gratitude, and disbelief, recovered quickly and said with a weak smile, "Of—of course, Evoric. Thank you. We'll get him home."

And as Merlin pretended to lead him from the tavern (a now-common sight), Gwaine continued spouting nonsense. Because he knew that with his reputation, no one would ever associate Merlin with magic, and if they did, they'd only laugh and wonder how it was that Gwaine managed to spout such ridiculous tales.

What they didn't know was that _he _would have the last laugh.

* * *

AN: Hm. Not too happy with this one, but I hope you liked it. Anyway, there will be NO more continuations of this one. I won't cave this time. ;P


	28. Pour

AN: Some background: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge is a challenge on the Heart of Camelot site in which I have to pick a scene that a character (there are 8 assigned characters and 2 other characters I have to do) did something that made me respect them / see them in a different way. The purpose of this challenge is to explore my love of the characters and write characters I normally wouldn't write and delve deeper into scenes that genuinely touched me. So, these'll be sprinkled in here randomly. :P

* * *

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Uther

Characters/Pairings: Uther, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 3x05

Word Count: 591

* * *

**Pour**

It had begun to drizzle outside. The pearly grey skies rolled with thickening and darkening storm clouds, and children, left unattended to play and unaware that their parents would be coming to herd them inside, squealed and romped about in the puddles.

And although Uther stared out at the scene, he didn't see.

He heard the door open behind him, and even before Arthur's manservant announced his presence with a gentle, "Sire," he'd known who it was.

The boy had an unfortunate habit of _not _knocking, he'd come to learn.

About a year ago, he had once asked Arthur why he didn't sack the boy for his impertinence—and had threatened that he'd do it himself if the boy woke Arthur late _one more bloody time_—but his son's answer had surprised him and had made Morgana smile—

The lump grew in his throat when he realized he might never see that beautiful smile again.

_He might be the worst servant in Camelot…_

"This is from Gaius. He thought it might…ease your mind."

He was too exhausted, too distraught at the image of Morgana's pale face and motionless form swimming before his eyes and at the flesh-memory of her ice-cold fingers and flaming brow to feel any frustration at the _sympathy _in the insolent fool's tone.

_He might be a fool_…

Merlin waited patiently for a moment, and just as Uther saw him incline his head and begin to turn away…

_But he is loyal_…

"You're Gaius' boy," he stated without thinking.

Normal servants would have cringed at the King's direct address.

_…he is brave and isn't afraid to tell you what he thinks…_

"He is my guardian," Merlin responded without hesitation.

"You're like a son to him."

"Yes."

In that simple agreement, it was clear that Gaius was more a father to him in turn.

"I see the way he cares for you."

In the way that he _couldn't _publically care for his ward.

Damn the secrets. Damn the lies.

Not his ward. His _daughter_.

It was killing him, chiseling at his insides like an axe—its need to _get out. _To be free. His emotions, which he bottled up time and time again—as was his duty as the King of this realm…

His love, his pain, his _desire _for someone to listen. Not to comfort or console. Just to _understand_.

_But most importantly—when he stops chatting and disobeying my orders, that is—he listens to me, my troubles, and… despite what one might expect from the idiot, he understands, Father_.

Uther blinked away threatening tears and turned his gaze to the stormy skies.

_His _Morgana. His beautiful Morgana. His vibrant, spirited, fiery-tempered daughter…

How could he bear to be without her in this life?

_And he is a good friend for it._

Sorrow pressed heavily upon him, crushing him and overpowering him with its weight.

"You feel your child's every joy… and their pain," he said quietly. "You watch their failings, and you see your own. All you want is for their happiness, for them to escape the sufferings of life."

The king took a shaky breath, and half-turning to Merlin, whose unreadable blue eyes were fixated unflinchingly on him, Uther finally said what he had been unable to say to Gaius, to Arthur, to anyone aloud.

Until now.

"Wh—why has this happened? I woul—I would do anything. Anyth..."

And it was so that as Uther Pendragon covered his mouth to stifle the sobs and felt tears slide down his cheeks, it began to pour.


	29. His Constant

Prompt: Write a drabble based around / inspired by the song "Here Comes the Sun" – The Beatles

Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Knights

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal

Word Count: 308

* * *

**His Constant**

The line of black swelled steadily. Like a giant wave building and building before finally crashing upon the shoreline, they came. Morgana was easily seen at the head of the formation on a horse of pure white that so greatly contrasted with the darkness of her gown and now-familiar and now-annoying smirk. The sound of restless horses and the _shing _of swords being unsheathed resounded around them all.

Arthur's sapphire blue eyes narrowed at the oncoming army and noticed with a sinking heart that they were outnumbered. Greatly outnumbered.

"Here we go again."

That voice—it was a voice that resounded through his most treasured memories. It belonged to a man who was just as much a steady guide as he was a fool. A man who teased him as relentlessly as he protected him. He was a friend. A constant in his ever-changing life.

Merlin had always stood by him in his and Camelot's darkest moments—no matter the odds—and this time, though _everything _had changed, it was no different.

The King turned to his newly made Court Sorcerer, whose lips quirked upward and whose eyes danced with fondness and steadfast determination, briefly before looking behind him at the sea of scarlet.

Suddenly, he wasn't afraid.

For what was there to be afraid of? With non-magical and magical people standing on the same side for the first time since the Purge—with his men, his noble, inspiring, hard-working men—behind him, with his constant standing at his side…

He understood the eager sparkle in Merlin's eye, the exasperated humor in his tone.

He understood it very well…because there was nothing quite like the feeling of fighting side-by-side with your brothers.

And with a grin—a rather feral, mad grin—breaking through his stoic façade like the sun through storm clouds, Arthur agreed, "Here we go again."


	30. Something Similar

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Morgana

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Morgana

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 1x08; small hints of Mergana

Word Count: 600 on the button. ;)

* * *

**Something Similar**

"How is he?"

"He's sleeping."

This was probably not the most helpful diagnosis on her part, and knowing that sleep could either be a good thing or a bad thing in different cases, Morgana added over her shoulder, "He's very pale. I worry he may have lost a lot of blood."

Drawing back the curtain, Morgana looked upon the sickly Druid, and as guilt and self-loathing—she wished more than anything that there was more she could do for him, and she knew that it was her own lack of skill and knowledge that hindered her—pricked her heart, she looked to Merlin, who contemplated the boy with a soft compassion in his eyes.

"Has he said anything at all?"

"Nothing," she breathed. "He won't even tell me his name."

For some indescribable reason, not knowing his name—it bothered her. It made her feel as though she had an itch she couldn't scratch or as though a thought she couldn't express in words was _just _on the tip of her tongue.

Merlin, his brow furrowed with worry, subtly nodded his head, and with a small, endearing, but awkward smile, he admitted, "You know—ah—" he scratched his head, and leaning against the wall, he started again, "For a moment there, earlier, I—I thought you were going to hand us over to the guards."

His honesty and openness surprised her, but even with the tone that implied that he was asking her forgiveness for assuming that and even after the cute puff of thankful, relieved, and apologetic laughter, she was more annoyed than impressed.

"Glad you had so much faith in me, Merlin," she quipped sarcastically.

"No, no, sorry," he stuttered, back-tracking and closing his eyes in an attempt to find the right words, "Um—I meant you're the King's ward." The shining blue eyes locked on hers again. "You're taking a huge risk helping the boy."

There was an unasked question in his words, and she responded in a significantly softer tone, "I wouldn't see an innocent child executed." Looking back to the innocent boy, who couldn't have been more than eight summers, she added passionately, "What harm has he ever done anyone?"

"Well," he said carefully, "Uther believes he has magic, and that makes him guilty."

Sick and _tired_ of hearing that excuse, Morgana's anger flared, and she said with a strong edge in her voice, "Uther's wrong."

With eyebrows raised in surprise, Merlin looked back up to her and asked, "You believe that?"

Morgana hesitated. Having grown up in Uther's Camelot, where magic was taboo and evil, it was hard to form one's own opinion of magic, and knowing she must be careful, she was uncertain who to share her newfound, budding beliefs with… and unsure if she _could _at all.

However, there was something about Merlin…

"What if," she began slowly, "magic isn't something you choose? What if it chooses you?"

A strange look passed across Merlin's face, and when the barest smile twitched at the corners of his lips, she couldn't help but ask, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Averting his eyes immediately, he muttered, "Nothing."

But that was all Morgana needed to know that he agreed. "Why are you helping him?" she asked bluntly.

He exhaled loudly and said, "It was a spur of the moment decision."

A burst of warmth flooded her chest when he, again, averted his eyes from hers. It didn't bother her that his answer was a partial lie because it signified that there was something more there…and it was something that they felt similarly.


	31. Of Confidence

AN: carinims01, I know you asked me AGES ago for more Gaius, so these two ficlets are dedicated to you!

* * *

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Gaius

Characters/Pairings: Gaius, Arthur, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x08

Word Count: 593

* * *

**Of Confidence**

When Arthur entered the physician's chambers, Gaius immediately stood to greet the King, whose jaw was clenched and whose face was drawn with deep thought, and Merlin, without being told, immediately took over, rolled up his sleeves, and began to tend to his patient's fever.

If the look on Arthur's wasn't sign enough that he was troubled, Gaius became _extremely_ concerned when the blonde noble took a seat near the window on that very stool he sat upon when he was a child, an adolescent, and even an adult…

He had sat there whenever he needed time away from his father and knights and from the pressures of being a Prince and whenever he simultaneously didn't want to be alone.

Lately, he had taken to sitting there directly _before_ something _big_ happened. It was as though it was a way of seeing into the future, and Gaius felt a strange shiver roll over him.

Something trying was ahead.

With disappointment that he could not possibly leave Camelot with the sweating sickness spreading so quickly stinging at his heart, Gaius listened to the King's report of the village's plight and pursed his lips at the thought of leaving the village to fend for itself against this strange ailment.

A gentle trickling distracted Gaius for a moment, and he watched with a surge of pride as Merlin, brow furrowed with compassion as he too listened to Arthur, wrung out the rag he was using.

_Maybe_—maybe all hope for helping this village wasn't lost just yet.

After Arthur was done and was waiting expectantly for his response and after patting his hands dry, Gaius explained, "This is the fourth case of sweating sickness I've seen today. In normal circumstances, I'd be happy to travel to this village to investigate, but—"

Arthur's face faltered, but he said quietly and considerately, "Of course, I understand."

"Might I make a suggestion, Sire?" Gaius asked quickly. He paced to Arthur and turned to look upon his ward. "Why not send Merlin in my place?"

As expected, Merlin froze in astonishment at his mentor's words—and the confidence in them—and he gazed back at him with a baffled look.

"_Merlin_?" Arthur repeated dubiously.

"He has a knowledge of the healing arts," Gaius said practically. "If the diagnosis is straightforward, he can prescribe a remedy, I'm sure."

"And what if it isn't?"

"Then he can bring his findings to me," the physician responded with a hint of a smug grin.

"'_Findings_?' Merlin can't find his backside most of the time."

Gaius almost snorted as the warlock, looking for the entire world as though he was only just managing to bite back an insolent retort, quirked a brow and sent a strange look at the King.

"I think he's capable of a lot more than you imagine, Sire," Gaius chided, his tone subtly hinting at the irony of the statement.

After sending a brief puzzled, but fond glance at Merlin over Gaius' shoulder, Arthur leaned in and asked, "Do you really think he'll be able to… handle the responsibility?"

With Merlin's greatest accomplishments flashing before his eyes and with his heart bursting with warmth… _How the boy has grown_, the mentor thought.

No. He wasn't a boy any longer. Having had faced death more often than Gaius might have preferred and having had seen more evil than anyone had a right to see, despite Gaius' attempts to protect him…

Merlin was a man now.

It was without hesitation that Gaius responded with the uttermost faith, "Yes, Sire. I do."


	32. And Every Faith

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot: Gaius – Part II (because I chose and nearly finished the scene for Part I before realizing how incredible the next [this] scene was)

Characters/Parings: Gaius, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x08; a follow-up of #31 Of Confidence

Word Count: 565

* * *

**And Every Faith**

Once Arthur left to organize a party of companions to travel to the village with Merlin and once Gaius reclaimed his position at the patient's side, Merlin, with a mildly panicked look in his intense eyes, stood without a word and locked himself in his room.

Gaius did not go after him. He knew that Merlin would come to him…when he was ready to talk.

But he wanted to. When he saw the self-doubt poisoning the heart of his ward and the stressed look that hardened his guileless face, Gaius wanted to so badly go after him.

However, experience told him that Merlin would brush him off if he pressured the warlock to speak to him, so wait he must.

It stung him to see a young man of Merlin's talent, intelligence, and brilliance doubting himself in such a way, and seeing those dark emotions cross through his stormy blue eyes, Gaius felt a rush of self-loathing and frustration at himself.

It was his _duty _as Merlin's mentor—his guardian, his uncle, his _father_ in all but name—to encourage him and guide him. To show approval at his successes and to give comfort and advice when he made mistakes…

And Gaius felt that he had failed. Was Merlin so insecure and uncertain of his ability to do this? Did he, as the young man's mentor, not show enough gratitude for everything that Merlin had added to his life and for every tear and drop of blood he'd sacrificed for Camelot and its people? Had he not given Merlin enough sign that there was no one he loved more and that there wasn't one step of his journey that Gaius hadn't watched without intense pride?

It was hours later that Gaius finally called Merlin for dinner, and after a few seconds, the young man, his nose stuck in a small book of medicines, somehow managed to make it down the stairs and into a chair without tipping over or tripping.

Gaius had to admit it was rather impressive.

Merlin chomped into an apple as the physician, patient and waiting expectantly for the young man to speak, began to slice some bread to accompany their stew.

It did not take long for the silence to be broken.

"Do you really think I can do this, Gaius?" Merlin blurted.

"I _know_ you can," Gaius amended.

"I'm not a physician. I don't have anything like the knowledge you do."

"You've been working for me for many years, Merlin. I suspect you know more than you think you do."

"I just do what you tell me to do," Merlin protested. "I don't have to make the decisions myself. These people will be putting their lives in my hands."

_Oh, you dear boy_, Gaius chided lightly to himself.

Forgetting the bread, the physician countered, "I put my life in your hands every day, Merlin, as does Arthur and Gwen and all of Camelot, though they may not know it." He sat and continued sincerely, "You're the one who holds the fate of this kingdom in the balance."

"That's different. That doesn't require a lifetime of learning, just—"

Gaius, eyes gleaming, was quick to finish, "Intelligence, courage, compassion."

Merlin modestly averted his eyes and scoffed a puff of laughter, and when he swallowed hardly, Gaius said in a heart-felt, warm tone, "All I know is…I have _every_ faith in you."


	33. Fearless

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Gwaine

Characters/Pairings: Gwaine, Elyan, Morgana, Gaius

Ratings/Warnings: taken from 4x12 – Gwaine has had about enough of Morgana and defends Gaius; swearing

Word Count: 600

* * *

**Fearless**

"So?" Elyan asked softly from where he was leaning up against the wall.

Gwaine, his stomach rumbling loudly as he ran an appraising eye over the sill of the little grated window, furrowed his brow and did not answer, which was, ultimately, answer enough.

He'd been in enough cells over the years to know their faults and differentiate between poor designs and sturdy ones, and it was rather unfortunate that, for the number of times that Camelot's own knights had been locked in their _own _dungeons, there wasn't _anything _useful coming from Gwaine's investigation.

_Damn Pendragons_, Gwaine cursed both fondly and angrily.

Gwaine sighed. It wasn't as though he could make any real escape successful. Not with Gaius so weak. Not with Elyan still recovering from the horrors of Morgana's mind-torture. Not with his head swimming from fatigue, hunger, and dehydration.

_We'd die_ _the moment we took a step outside, _Gwaine had mused aloud with mock-cheer.

Elyan had thereafter told him that his optimism was _outstanding._

Ah, the sarcasm. It was a wonderful thing that kept these dark, dank hours from being too boring and from seeming too hopeless.

But, it wasn't enough, was it? They might have helped Arthur to safety so that he could fight another day, but _they_ were still stuck here, unable to help their King and their people, as they were sworn to do.

So, with his blood boiling with frustration at his _uselessness_, Gwaine tried anyway.

Upon hearing footsteps and sensing Elyan tense beside him, Gwaine whirled slowly around to see Morgana, flanked by two Southron bastards.

Gwaine was impressed when, despite his weakened state, Gaius was the first to quip insolently (well, no _wonder_ Merlin had such a mouth), "Have you come to _gloat_, my Lady?"

"Is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Morgana asked in a tone dripping with mock-offence. Cocking her head, the witch ran a wicked eye over the physician and simpered, "I'll forgive you. After all, you're not looking your best."

Blood roared in Gwaine's ears, and with rage flaring in his breast, he snapped, "Can't you see he's starving?"

Morgana quirked a brow and smirked when Gwaine's stomach protested loudly. Again. "We all are," he admitted through clenched teeth.

"Of course you are," Morgana said dismissively. "You killed so many of my men." Her eyes narrowed, and she added with heavy cynicism, "I'll have the kitchens prepare you a feast."

There was nothing Gwaine wanted more than to rush at her with a sharpened sword, but when he took a step forward to give her a bloody piece of his mind—because oh, was she going to _get it_—Elyan sensed the rebellion rising in his friend, gently stopped him, and shook his head.

_Careful, Gwaine_.

_Don't get yourself killed, you fool_.

_ We can't lose you_.

All of these pleas and remonstrations were easily seen in those chocolate eyes, and Gwaine, glaring in Morgana's direction, felt himself soften.

As much as he hated it, he needed to tread carefully if they were to survive. Gaius and Elyan—they needed him.

The chains clanked across the ground as he paced to the cell door. Morgana's brow rose, and as fearless as he had been the moment he decided he'd keep the Southrons off Arthur and Merlin's back and the moment he sealed his fate when he gripped Percival's forearm, Gwaine said slowly, "I think not of myself but of Gaius. He can't survive long without food."

It was when Morgana smirked gleefully and amusedly that Gwaine realized he played right into her hand.

And he was to fight.


	34. Screams of the Dead

AN: Dedicated to Ocean Mint Leaves, who asked me for some more Lancelot

* * *

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Lancelot

Characters/Pairings: Lancelot, Merlin, Knights

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x01

Word Count: 597

* * *

**Screams of the Dead**

It probably hadn't been the _best _idea to split up into pairs once the sun had set and once the night had begun to creep upon them.

_Or perhaps_, Lancelot joked frenziedly to himself, _it hadn't been the best idea to pair up with _Merlin.

Because Merlin, for some strange reason, stayed back in the empty barn for a little longer than Lancelot had anticipated…

_In other words_, his mind berated him as he frantically cast his eyes over the foggy landscape, _you lost track of him_.

He should have known better. One must _never_ lose track of Merlin. Ever.

It wasn't exactly because Merlin attracted trouble. It wasn't exactly because Merlin had the worst self-preservation instincts Lancelot had ever seen. It wasn't exactly because he didn't know a more selfless person or because he didn't know a single man who would so willingly lay down his life for another.

No, this time, he shouldn't have lost track of the servant because Merlin, who had been more edgy and tight-lipped than Lancelot had ever seen before, was afraid. Deathly afraid…in a way that not a single one of them could fully comprehend.

A single scream shattered the night.

Whirling around in panic, Lancelot scanned the area again and exhaled a loud sigh of relief when he saw Merlin emerge from the barn and summon a light on his palm…

His heart immediately dropped with dread when the light spluttered and then… died.

It—the magic… _Merlin_'s magic didn't just…_?_

_Oh, no_.

With the screams beginning to build around him and with his blood freezing over and heart racing, Lancelot set off at a dead sprint to Merlin, whose eyes were wide with fear as he looked behind him for the source of the growing noise of the Dorocha.

When a single skull-like spirit burst from the trees, Lancelot's eyes widened, and gritting his teeth against the pain of the fire licking at his exposed wrist and uncaring of the sparks leaping at his eyes, he pumped his legs harder.

It was incredible that, despite the fear lacing his trembling voice as he incanted a spell, Merlin threw up his hands and stood his ground. There were two pinpricks of light blazing from his golden eyes…

_It wasn't working_. Why_ wasn't it working?_

"Merlin!" Lancelot shouted, lunging in between his friend and the Dorocha, pushing him back, and instinctively swinging the torch in a wide arc.

In response to the flare of the flames, the demonic thing screeched with rage and pain and dissipated into dark mist.

Even though it killed him not to look at Merlin to ensure for himself that he was alright, Lancelot, panting heavily, refused to take his eyes off the night sky in the event that it reappeared.

"What happened?" he asked a little more harshly than he intended.

"My magic," Merlin breathed. The terror and shock at his powerlessness coloring his tone made Lancelot shudder. "I couldn't use it."

His magic was so much a part of him—so much a part of _them_…

Fear stabbed at his gut, but he swallowed it away. Merlin needed his support—now more than ever.

And he, being the only one knowledgeable of Merlin's gifts and what it meant to not only Camelot, but also to _Merlin _that they were ineffective, was the only one who _could_ give the support the younger man needed.

The Knight finally looked back to the warlock, whose wet eyes locked with his for the briefest moment before Arthur and the others finally made their appearance and ran to them.


	35. His Son

Prompt: Write a drabble based around / inspired by the song "Don't Fear the Reaper" – Blue Oyster Cult

Characters/Pairings: Balinor, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Scene taken from 2x13

Word Count: 306

* * *

**His Son**

It was in that moment that he remembered who he was.

Because in the years following the downfall of the dragons, he, bitter, alone, and shunned, had forgotten.

He remembered the man he had been and the man he wanted to be. For his once-King. For _her_. And now… for his son—the one who had reminded him of his responsibility and who had reopened his eyes and heart.

Merlin. The son he never knew he had and the son he already loved more than the world itself.

It was without a thought that Balinor leapt before the solider who drew back his sword to stab Merlin…

The sword slipped through his ribs, and beyond the liquid fire of pain originating from his center, he felt a wave of rolling, raging power—wild and yet controlled…

Magic. Of the likes of which he had never before seen.

It didn't shock him. Instead, it warmed his heart with glee, pride, and sadness.

He wouldn't be able to talk to Merlin about it. To talk, to smile, to hear him laugh. To listen to his son tell him about his life and his magic.

Those blue orbs hovered above him, and feeling himself fading—

Advice. The most important things.

The words spilled off his tongue. Meaningless almost, in comparison to how he felt and to how much he wished….

He had her eyes. Eyes filling rapidly with tears.

To see his son's face, her eyes—his son's eyes…to see the product of his happiest years on this Earth...

In Merlin was everything good in the world, and he could die happy having known him as his son.

"I have seen enough in you," Balinor whispered with great effort, gently touching Merlin's high cheekbone—something that had been inherited from both his parents—"to know you'll make me proud."


	36. A Circle Without End

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Guinevere

Characters/Pairings: Gwen, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 1x12

Word Count: 600

* * *

**A Circle Without End**

When Gwen had walked by Arthur's chambers and had seen Merlin staring out the window at the courtyard below, she had peeked her head in, and having seen that her friend was alone and clearly troubled, her brow had furrowed with concern.

It had been obvious that, despite what he might've said, he wasn't "fine."

And it had pained her more than she could have said that his open, clear eyes had become unreadable and guarded and that he'd barricaded himself away...

She had come to notice that, from time to time, there was something indescribably dark and intense in those usually carefree eyes...

That fierce flicker had been apparent whenever someone he cared for was harmed, but then, it had been comforting—the determination and protectiveness…

Now when he looked at her…a small part of her sensed something was off. Unnerving. Dangerous.

"…because he knew," Gwen was musing, fighting back at the tears that threatened to fall whenever she thought of how much it hurt to see people leering at her for what they believed was undeniable proof of her father's guilt, "that whatever he said or did he'd be killed."

She took a deep breath and bit her lip, adding with a wavering voice, "Uther had already made up his mind. That's the kind of man he is."

For a moment, Merlin was completely silent, and then from behind her, he said quietly, "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted him dead."

Gwen's fingers froze at her throat, and without hesitation, she twirled back to Merlin and said in a voice that surprised her with its strength, "If Uther died, I'd feel nothing. He means _nothing _to me."

It wasn't until that the words were said that Guinevere realized how true they were, and it wasn't until they left her mouth that she realized that that is what she had needed. More than anything.

To just say them aloud to Merlin and not fear that he would judge her for them… to know that he'd _understand_—it was a breath of fresh air, and after she had taken the chance to express her raging and hurting feelings towards the man that killed her father, the blanket of sorrow covering her shoulders shifted.

"But if you had...you know...the _choice_, what would you do?" Merlin's eyes were fixed on her with that unwavering seriousness—that un-Merlin darkness—once more, and her brow furrowed as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was asking…

But, no, he couldn't be suggesting…?

"If you had the power of life and death over Uther, would you kill him? For what he did?"

It didn't take more than a few seconds for Gwen to see the lives that Uther had taken—people that she had never known and never would know… all for the purpose of taking revenge for the mysterious, unknown event that began the Purge. She saw the sorcerers retaliating against the King for _their _loses, crossing fire with fire in an endless cycle of hatred and blood….

A circle without end.

"_No_," she breathed passionately, shaking her head.

A shadow lifted from Merlin's face, and surprised, he repeated, "No?"

"What would that solve?" she asked, her voice breaking. "That would make me a murderer. That would make me as bad as _him_."

It had surprised her when Merlin, eyes widening in realization and gratitude, dashed away without explanation, but as it turned out, she was one of the few who weren't surprised when news that the King's life had been threatened (and then subsequently saved) filtered into Camelot hours later.


	37. Purposeful

AN: Dedicated to Ocean Mint Leaves, who always encourages me to write as much Hunith as humanly possible. ;)

* * *

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Hunith

Characters/Pairings: Hunith, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 1x10

Word Count: 646

* * *

**Purposeful**

It was more beautiful than she remembered it being, and it took her breath away—just as it had the moment she first laid eyes on the sturdy glittering walls, the graceful towers and buttresses, and the lively Lower Town.

The city had grown, that much was very clear. But concerning the _people, _she remembered a _very_ different Camelot.

Before, laughter rang throughout the streets, children romped and played without supervision, and friends called out to friends. It had been lively and sunny, and the whole world had seemed to be peacefully sighing with satisfaction.

Hunith looked around and was saddened by what she saw. Where there was once happiness and prosperity abound, there was suspicion, hardship, and the subtlest pervading feeling of fatigue, fear, and discontent. There were still shouts and calls, but smiles were harder to come by; faces were drawn, eyes were cast down, and children were clutched to mothers' sides. Most people hardly looked up or so much as _grunted _when they accidentally brushed against her, they were in such a rush to go about their business.

This is what Uther's Purge had done. It not only poisoned the life of those with magic but also those _without_.

And she had sent Merlin here? To _this? _To a Camelot that hated him and his gifts? To a Camelot that was no longer safe, no longer free?

She shook her head, banishing the guilt and regret. She wouldn't have even _considered _it if she knew that Merlin wasn't strong enough to handle the anti-magic sentiment pressing from all sides, and she trusted that Gaius could protect him. Keep him and his secret safe.

It was in Camelot that Merlin could _have _a future… so that he could learn to use his magic for the good of all…

She knew her son's heart—inside and out—and Hunith knew that he was destined for something more than a farmer's life.

It had become apparent from his and Gaius' letters that that even _she_ had underestimated Merlin's power and destiny.

Saving the Prince of Camelot… Saving _the King_, despite his cruelty and harsh laws…

"Mother?"

Her head whipped around to see her son, who was carrying a pail of water and whose eyes were gleaming with disbelief, and it was then that she felt it.

She had always had this _sense _of Merlin's magic. Even as she held him in her arms for the first time, Hunith had felt its presence… She could feel it rolling, restless, pacing, wandering, and wild. Whenever he was scared, angry, upset, excited, she could tell by the flare, the jump, the spike—the _density _of it, the sharpness or softness of it, the size of it.

They had worked so hard to hide those flares of lost control.

His magic…it was the _same_, but different.

It was beautiful. It was warm. As it always was. It still leapt under his skin and through his veins. But… as powerful as it had grown—for Hunith was _well _aware that Merlin had begun to learn real spells—it was more _pure_ than she could ever remember it being.

Pure. Controlled. _Purposeful_. _That_—that was why.

Merlin had found his calling—_in Arthur_, she realized with awe.

Hunith didn't even care that people might stare. She didn't even care that she dropped a nameless something that she had been carrying. She just ran to him, pulled him into her arms, and cradled his face.

"Merlin!" she cried, gasping a laugh of complete joy at seeing him again and at the feeling of the wondrous changes...

Suddenly, any thought of telling him what she could see of his growth disappeared when Merlin's face darkened, and he asked, "What happened?"

Hunith's face fell, and her hands faltered as his trembling, gentle fingers brushed at the bruise over her eye.

"Who did this to you?"


	38. To the Mouth of Hell

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Leon

Characters: Leon, Arthur, Percival, Merlin, Isolde

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x13; lol, I thought this might be cheating, considering that I've studied this episode relentlessly for Only Friend, but I was assured it wasn't... P

Word Count: 644

* * *

**To the Mouth of Hell**

In the span of a single second, everything had changed.

The man Leon saw stepping into the grove of trees to approach the golden sword, stuck fast in stone, was cautious, doubtful, and unsure of himself. The Knight had known Arthur long enough to immediately notice the hesitance in his eyes as he looked up at his audience and the way in which the King threw a slightly panicked and desperate look back to Merlin, and it made his heart falter to see…

Arthur was by _no _means weak, but even Leon could see that his spirit was floundering in self-doubt. The evidence was in his gait, in his eyes…

But, after the sword slipped free from its sheath and the sun's rays hit the blade and Arthur's golden hair in an arc of light, Leon saw the shadows lift. He saw the determination, the purpose, the unwavering and loyal and courageous King that he loved and respected above all men. The King he would serve with pride and honor until breath did leave his body.

Awed, inspired, and hopeful at the miraculous and beautiful event and transformation he had just witnessed, he thanked Merlin for his part (because there was no doubt who had kept the King from drowning) in the back of his mind, and he was the first to take up the cry of "Long live the King!"

It wasn't until later that he realized just how _much _he had Merlin to thank for.

"And we have, what? A few hundred?" Arthur asked.

Percival nodded. "And they still outnumber us."

"Yeah, but only three to one," Arthur said dismissively, his sapphire eyes sparkling with humor and gleaming with confidence—in _them_.

Feeling a burst of warmth in his chest, Leon chuckled and exchanged a look with Percival, who smiled in understanding as the message passed between the pair of them.

It was an incredible sound—to hear their King's humor and faith, despite the severity of the situation—and to Leon, it felt as though he were home again.

They would win this.

The King's tone even affected the newest members of their group, and Leon noticed that a warm smile had graced Isolde's face.

"And you think they'll fight?" she asked from beside Leon.

Without hesitation, Leon answered, "Well, they fight for Arthur."

"It's not me they fight for," Arthur denied immediately, causing Leon to whip his head around in slight shock.

"It's for Camelot."

For a fraction of a heartbeat—less even—Leon was stunned. Did he not _see_? Did Arthur not see the love in the people's gazes? Did he not realize that he, that Percival, that his knights and soldiers, would die happy under his rule? Did he not notice the way that he inspired _everyone_—from the peasants, to the nobles… even _Merlin_—

It was then that Leon flickered his gaze to Merlin, whose stormy eyes shimmered with pride, whose insolent retorts and cheeky smiles drove their King mad, who wasn't afraid to challenge him, to rile him, or to question him, who had never stopped insulting him, but who had always _been _there…every step of the way…

It was then that Leon's breath was taken away. He _remembered_. He remembered a Prince arrogant, cocky, and unkind. He remembered a time when servants were tormented and when mocking jeers were a common thing across the training grounds…

Was that really the same man who stood before him now?

"No, Arthur," Leon said strongly. "It is you that people love, and you that they will lay down their lives for. Know that I would ride into the mouth of hell for you."

It did not surprise him that Percival and Merlin agreed.

Looking at the three of them with gratitude and warmth, Arthur drew his sword, smiled, and said, "Then to the mouth of hell it is."

* * *

AN: Only two more characters to go! I've had Merlin's scene picked from the moment I started this challenge, but Arthur... you might get two from me about him. ;) For those waiting for prompts to be done, you haven't been forgotten! :)


	39. On the Morrow

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Arthur

Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Agravaine, Merlin, Knights

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x05, a bit dark

Word Count: 638

* * *

**On the Morrow**

It was massive.

Unattended, Arthur had slipped from camp to make a solitary trek to the Ridge, where he, squinting his sapphire eyes against the glare of the setting sun, watched Carleon's army building, building…

He could see it playing out in his mind's eye—and from the blood-lusty crow's sky-view, he saw weapons flashing, he saw the land burning, he saw bodies upon bodies, spilling their lifeblood and staining the ground forever more…

How many men would die on that field on the morrow? How many of hismen would make their first kills and have to live with themselves for it afterwards? How many of Camelot's families would never see their loved ones again? How many of his men would return crippled, both mentally and physically?

And in turn, how many of Annis' men would suffer the same fate as his? And how many of Annis' people would lose husbands, brothers, sons, uncles, and nephews?

One realm might win the battle, but in doing so—in the long run—they both will have lost too much to have either claim to victory or defeat.

Because both of their kingdoms will, ultimately, fall.

And it was his fault that so much pain had to be felt, so much horror had to be witnessed, so much… hatred had to be spread.

Arthur barely registered Agravaine's approach, and after giving his orders—orders he shouldn't have been giving—to ensure that his men had everything they needed for the morning and after his uncle paced away, Arthur took one more look out at the oncoming army and half-heartedly followed his path back to camp.

He hardly remembered the walk to his tent. He hardly remembered what he said in response to the men who questioned him. He hardly remembered entering his tent, and he hardly remembered the excuse he gave Merlin, whose mere presence made the King ever increasingly aware of the penalty of the mistake he had made…in _not _listening to the servant's advice, when he asked if he wanted anything to eat. He hardly remembered eatingat all.

All he remembered was scarlet. Staring at the scarlet of the Pendragon. The colors of Camelot. Of _his _people.

He turned away in disgust every time he reminded himself that it was also the color of blood.

There must be _something_…

He heard a bright laugh—Merlin's laugh—and he was shook out of his brooding, dark thoughts with a jolt.

Noticing with some surprise that the sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, Arthur shook his head, sent a dispassionate glare at his cold, uneaten food, and stood.

His feet—or perhaps it was more his nose, which smelled the warm, comforting scent of a campfire…or perhaps it was more the abyss of _loneliness_ that had suddenly threatened to consume him—led him to the entrance of his tent…

Where he watched as Leon ruffled a chuckling Merlin's hair. Where he watched Percival and Elyan clink tankards and grin.

Arthur watched them, and a small smile, accompanied by a slowly thickening lump in his throat, began to twitch at his lips and grow.

Watching them, smiling, laughing, teasing…. These men—these were the men who he could count on to be by his side. Always. These were the men who he would lay down his life for—as they would him. These men were his brothers-in-arms, his companions, his _friends._

He couldn't let them fight. He couldn't bear to see any of them die for his mistakes.

He _wouldn't._

And after they caught him watching and entered his tent—after hearing their unwavering declaration of faith in him and after finally, _finally, _finding it in himself to speak his mind in private with his oldest friend, his plan was solidified.

Only _he_ would fight on the morrow.


	40. The Hug

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Arthur – Part II (just because)

Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Agravaine, George, Gwen, Gwaine, Merlin

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 4x06... and the style's a little funky here. *shrugs*

Word Count: 670

* * *

**The Hug**

"Scour it again," Arthur had said without hesitation.

Arthur could still see the rocks tumbling between him and his servant, whose pained, glazed eyes fluttered weakly and whose body lay where mercenaries swarmed… he could still feel his throat tearing when he screamed Merlin's name, realizing in that split second that he was leaving the injured man _defenseless _by _stupidly_ getting caught on the wrong side of the fall…

No.

Merlin _was _alive. He had to be. He—he _couldn't _be dead.

But when his uncle slapped down a piece of all-too-familiar shabby brown leather onto the table before him, Arthur, his heart sinking, stared at it.

It was stained with blood.

"I'm sorry," Agravaine said formally, stiffly, "that you've lost such a loyal and—"

Biting back his sorrow, he stopped Agravaine from continuing.

Because _he hadn't lost _Merlin. After all that they had endured together, how could he lose Merlin? How could Merlin lose him? Merlin wouldn't—_leave _him. Not like that.

And Arthur wouldn't give up on Merlin…because he never gave up on _him_.

It was this bloody scrap of Merlin's jacket, which was a common enough material to have belonged to one of the _mercenaries_, Arthur realized optimistically, that was the first push.

The second came in the form of that ridiculously polite and _adept _servant—George—who had been standing there in his chambers, _silently and patiently_ waiting for the King to wake.

_No, no, this definitely wasn't right_…

Ignoring the rich assortment of food waiting for him and the utensils being forced into his hands (_in the bloody _bed_, none the less_!), Arthur found himself saying stubbornly, "...he is—"

He looked to George and was again overwhelmed by how _wrong _this was—that the servant wasn't physically dragging him out of bed, or stuffing food into his mouth, or smirking, or giving him an insolent wisecrack "—my manservant, and to be quite honest, I like it that way."

Without further ado, he rolled out of bed and, without the help of the persistent George, dressed hurriedly.

He wondered why it had taken him so long to see it: he had planned to go after Merlin the moment he was forced to leave his side.

Because after all that they had survived together…how could he not?

Arthur's furious, determined storming through the castle attracted the attention of many, but it was only Guinevere who dared to fall in step with him.

When she caught up to him and reminded him of what the patrols had reported, Arthur spun around and asked, his tone fluctuating with emotion, "Do you expect me to accept that? Just to sit here and take their word that Merlin's gone? I won't rest until I at least try."

Her eyes shone with understanding. "I know."

It didn't surprise him that Gwaine was already seated in his horse and was ready to accompany him even before Guinevere asked that he didn't go alone, and it wasn't minutes after they rode out of Camelot that Gwaine began to ramble. Of course, though he tried to steer clear of the topic of Merlin, it was inevitable that the younger man become the subject of conversation a few hours later.

"You know what I like about Merlin? He never expects any praise. All these things he does just for the good of doing them—"

A sudden rustle and groan alerted Arthur to a stranger's presence, and silencing Gwaine, he dismounted, drew out his sword, and called out a challenge.

His heart swooped and throat thickened when the stranger was revealed to be no stranger at all.

Merlin.

He…he was _alright_. _Thank the gods_ _he was alright. _

"I thought we'd lost you!" Arthur exclaimed with a giddy laugh of relief and gratitude.

It didn't matter that Merlin was covered in gunk and muck and whatever the hell else. It didn't matter that Merlin stunk like dead fish, mud, and horse dung. It didn't _matter_.

He pulled his friend into a fierce embrace anyway.

* * *

AN: Yay! I only have Merlin left and then I can move on! After Merlin's done, I'll probably focus on Heart of Gold before anyone's prompts (I'm sorry I've been neglecting to do them for you guys), so thank you for your patience!


	41. For A Moment

Prompt: The Hearts of Camelot Challenge: Merlin

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Gaius, Uther (mentioned)

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 2x08

Word Count: 630

* * *

**For a Moment**

Merlin was sure he looked like the idiot that Arthur always he assumed he was, but at the moment, as he watched Uther walk out of Gaius' chambers, he felt that he had good reason.

Because Uther had just…?

The threat—that could've been real, but Merlin couldn't give a damn about that. Despite what Uther might believe, he wasn't a stupid, gossipy servant who would divulge such private and personal information to anyone and everyone the moment he had the chance.

The emotional vulnerability he had witnessed, the tears, the pain, the conflict he had caused…and prevented—he wouldn't betray Arthur's trust like that. Ever.

No, what made Merlin half-believe that this was a dream was the fact that Uther Pendragon had been waiting alone in Gaius' chambers for the sole purpose… of _thanking_ him?

It just sounded ridiculous.

However, the moment that Gaius and his cocked eyebrow rounded the door and the moment he asked in stunned shock, "Was that _Uther_ I saw just leaving?", Merlin decided that he _wasn't _hallucinating.

"Yeah," Merlin said numbly. "He just popped in to say hello."

"Merlin," Gaius breathed, "what did he _want_?"

The young man's brow furrowed, and he said slowly, "He wanted to thank me for being a trusted ally in the fight against magic."

The irony of the words that had fallen from his lips and the significance of Uther's visit once again overwhelmed him to a massive degree, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, sob, or stare blankly at a wall and just…go to sleep. Maybe his dreams would make more sense.

In the end, Merlin thought that trying to wrap his mind around it was the healthiest option.

"How you've managed to keep that head on your shoulders," Gaius said in an awed tone as Merlin sat heavily, "is a mystery beyond our greatest minds."

Merlin's lips twitched into a smile at his mentor's offhand teasing.

"Uther should be grateful," Gaius continued, putting down his medicine bag and taking a seat himself. "Your life would've been easier and safer if you'd let him die."

Immediately, any remaining shock dissipated, and Merlin's stormy eyes darkened at the thought of what could have been….

Even though he had grown accustomed to living in the shadow's of Uther's tyranny, Merlin couldn't deny that the fear he had harbored ever since he was a little boy of the King Pendragon's fiery pyres—it would never fade away.

It _would _have been easier. It _would _have been safer.

But, it wouldn't have been _better_.

Arthur wasn't ready to be King.

"You must have been tempted."

Merlin's eyes flared as he remembered the loathing that consumed him when he had heard Ygraine's tale and Gaius' confession to its truth. Uther's hypocrisy—it wasn't hard for Merlin to figure out what _exactly _had started the Purge and where the grief had become revenge…then paranoia, and it wasn't hard to see exactly why he had had to live his life in fear, why his whole life was a secret, why he had grown up half-believing that he was a monster, abhorred openly by those who didn't know or _understand_ who and what he truly was…

"Maybe for a moment," Merlin admitted.

But if Arthur had killed his father…

A shudder of horror racked Merlin at the very thought. It wouldn't be _Arthur _anymore. He'd be broken—beyond all repair.

"But Arthur wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if he'd gone through with it. It would have destroyed him," Merlin finished unwaveringly.

Gaius smiled warmly at him and said, "I'm proud of you, Merlin."

Any second thoughts and regrets of the consequences…suddenly disappeared, and for the first time, Merlin felt with every fiber in his being that he did the right thing.

* * *

AN: Lol, this actually wasn't my first choice of scene for Merlin, but when I realized that I was going to go FAR over the word limit for that scene, I chose this one. So... expect another, 1,500+ word one-shot for Merlin coming sometime soon! ;D


	42. The Defining Moment

Prompt: This was _supposed _to be my Hearts of Camelot entry for Merlin before it got too long. :P

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Sigan, an unconscious Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Taken from 2x01 (remember Morgana is still good here!), dark

Word Count: 1883

* * *

**The Defining Moment**

"Who would have _believed _it?" Cedric—no, _Sigan _simpered with a sardonic, amused tone as he stepped out of the screen of fog covering the courtyard. "You, a _sorcerer._" The man's black eyes narrowed greedily as he ran his gaze over Merlin. "And a _powerful_ one."

Ignoring the discomforting, analyzing eyes of the power-hungry sorcerer and brushing aside the fear lacing his thoughts, Merlin yelled loyally and determinedly from Arthur's side, "I won't let you hurt him."

Sigan's brows rose, and he asked cynically, "And _you're _going to stop me?"

Merlin's blue eyes hardened, and trembling—he could _feel _Sigan's power, he could feel the dark magic flowing through him like an ocean lying in wait to bear a cyclone, and he could _hear_ it the ancient sorcerer's voice, which was simultaneously like the hiss of a seductive snake and like the forceful, horrible weight of a great mace striking and denting an unmovable shield…

Camelot. Gaius. _Arthur_, his future King. This was _his_ home. This was _his _family, and he couldn't fail them here and now.

His fear was nothing to his love, and not even the legendary, omnipotent Cornelius Sigan could draw the light away from the future of the Emrys and the Once and Future King.

Thus, Merlin stood and paced away from Arthur to face Sigan head-on.

"I will stop you," the young warlock said softly.

Sigan considered him, and after flickering his eyes to the unconscious Prince, after wiping his smirk from his face and replacing it with a frown of puzzlement, and after adopting a wickedly convincing tone, he said, "He does not deserve your loyalty. He treats you like a _slave_."

_Uneven stones cut sharply into his palms and knees, scraping and digging as Arthur's boot pushed down onto his back…_

_A goblet he was too slow to avoid hit him in the back of the head…_

But there was laughter. There was that gleam of humor and joy in Arthur's eyes whenever they clashed and battled with wit. There were those little punches to the shoulder and the trust between them. There was the budding and growing friendship that neither of them was willing to admit and the strength of _loyalty_…

_Collapsing into bed after long days, with no motivation to so much as undress or move…the smell of the stables sticking with him for hours… the rawness of his hands and the heaviness of his eyes… waking up—became hell… and armor polish stinging his nose and soap burning the open cuts on his hands and steaming food from the royal kitchens making his empty stomach rumble painfully and throbbing bruises from target practice discoloring his body…_

Merlin's brow furrowed, and shaking his head, he tried to think of the good times, the good memories. "That's not true."

Sigan's confusion and anger seemed to grow with Merlin's denial, and he argued, "He cast you aside without a moment's thought!"

_Arthur's hard grip on his arm, leading him to the dungeons…his looks of appreciation towards the shady criminal who had infiltrated his castle… the moments when the promise of Uther's goodwill and praise overcame everything and anything that _Arthur _was and that Merlin tried so hard to get him to see…_

Waking up from being poisoned by Nimueh and seeing the concern in Arthur's eyes…. realizing the depth of protectiveness and love that he possessed for his people when his slaying of the unicorn had brought famine and drought to Camelot… noticing just how much the arrogant young man had changed since Merlin had become his manservant…not being sacked, despite Arthur's insistence that he was 'the worst manservant he had ever had…'

_An echo of his Prince's enraged tones cutting through him like a knife through butter…_

_"I need a servant I can trust."_

_"You _can _trust me!"_

_"And look where it got me this time. Get out of my sight!"_

It was true, wasn't it? This hadn't been the first time.

And it probably wouldn't be the last. Especially not when Arthur realized what he had been keeping from him and especially not when Arthur realized that magic had been used under his very nose for years…

It was another blow to his shield that nearly crippled him.

Merlin's eyes were wet as he shook his head again and as he said with a little less confidence, "That doesn't matter."

"But it must hurt so much—" Sigan cooed understandingly, bewitchingly.

It did hurt. It hurt more than Merlin could say—like his magic being ripped from him or like his heart being torn out through his chest, it _hurt_.

_Everything_ he did for Arthur…and he couldn't see. All that the Prince could see—or wanted to see—was the fool, the clumsy oaf, the useless manservant…

"—to be so put upon, so overlooked, when all the while you have such power."

_Now is not the time to be questioning these things, Merlin. I believe that you and Arthur are destined for greatness and that your calling is to serve and protect him._

_One day…_

_Your time will come._

_When?_ Merlin had asked his mentor. _When?_

Another part of his shield, his resolve, his hope and faith—shattered.

With a hint of pain fraying the edges of his firm tone, Merlin repeated Gaius' wisdom, "That's the way it has to be."

"Does it?" Sigan retorted.

Unbalanced by the question, Merlin paused, and the ancient sorcerer continued with his silky voice, "You're young, Merlin. Look inside yourself. You have yet to discover your true power."

Wavering, the young warlock blinked, and the small part of him that was being restrained by his cracking shield of morality and loyalty wondered what it would be like…to be able to practice magic to his heart's content without fear of the consequences and what it would be like to challenge himself, to push himself to his limits… to see just _how far _he could go…

The daydream was appealing, exciting, and enchanting, and with all his heart, Merlin _wanted_—

Touching his chest, Sigan beguiled, "I can help you. Think, Merlin. To have the world appreciate your greatness. To have Arthur know you for what you are."

_To have Arthur know_…

He would be _free_ of this cage holding him captive. He wouldn't have to _hide_.

Suddenly, Merlin realized what he was thinking, and with a shock of terror forcing him to dig in his heels, he reined in the wild zephyrs of his fantasies.

_No_, his saner and more practical self ordered.

If Arthur knew _now_—when Uther was still King and when the mentality towards magic was still so fixed and unyielding—destiny would fracture.

_Destiny_? he snorted to himself.

_His life _would fracture, and everything he had done, everything he had learned, and everything that he had become for Arthur would be for naught.

Hewould be turned away, shunned, cast out, forsaken. Camelot—his _home_—would no longer welcome him. He wouldn't be able to see Gwen, Morgana, or Gaius, and he wouldn't be able to solidify the friendships he had created since coming to Camelot. Arthur—Arthur couldn't know. Not yet. Not if Merlin wanted to hold hope that someday, that one day, he _wouldn't _be hunted, scorned, feared, or hated for his gifts—or for simply being…_Merlin_.

The dreams would have to wait.

Pursing his lips and shaking his head again, Merlin murmured regretfully, "That can never be."

"It _can_," Sigan disagreed, "if you join me."

And suddenly, the magic of his dreams hit him with a cruel vengeance, and it felt so good—it was _so close_—that a painful shudder of pleasure possessed him.

Noticing Merlin's weakening resolve, Sigan became uninhibitedly enthusiastic, and the vehement, malicious glee crept back into his voice like poison would through a victim's veins. "Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice; he will kneel at your feet."

Merlin's indecision, his fantasies—everything that swirled about his head and filled him with a desire so strong that he could hardly bear it and an ache so intense that it teasingly chiseled away at what was left of the meager shield of self-control and perseverance—

Everything came to an abrupt stand still when he realized what Sigan had just suggested.

_That _wasn't him and thatwasn't the man he wanted to be.

Because, for all of this… he would lose himself and become no better than Sigan or any of the others who turned away from the goodness and happiness in the world, became poisoned by revenge, hatred, or power, and embraced the darkness…

And the shield, which was nearly completely disintegrated by the images induced by the words of the seductive snake, suddenly _reformed_, building upwards, strengthening its ties to his soul and its ties to his _other_…

Arthur might be an overbearing, arrogant, testy, and ungrateful master, but with all the moods in between, Merlin could see that the Prince had the potential of becoming not only the greatest King Camelot had ever seen and would ever see but also the best friend he could ask for.

He was already a friend too precious to him to lose in a moment of ill-advised weakness.

Brow scrunching with disapproval and disdain for the sorcerer before him and with utter devotion to the path he had chosen, Merlin sealed his fate and said with a dark, stubborn glint in his eye, "I don't want that."

Sigan stared at him in complete disbelief before he asked loftily, "You'd _rather _be a servant?"

His response was immediate, confident, and as insolent as any of his friends might expect it to be.

"Better to serve a good man than rule with an evil one!"

Merlin did not know it then, but it was this moment that would permanently define him, his beliefs, and his loyalty to Arthur for the rest of his life. Never again would he be tempted to break, and never again would his shield, now integrated into his very spirit and gilded in gold, bend to any man's blow. He was Arthur's and his own. Now and forever.

From there and then on, the Emrys would laugh in the face of any who dared suggest that he chose power and recognition over his King.

It was in this defining moment that their bonded destiny...It wasn't a destiny he felt _obligated_ to follow anymore. Whatever was written in the stars—he would follow that path without being led by any superior power because this was _his _choice.

This was what _he _believed in.

There _would_ come a day when magic and peace would sing throughout the realm, and there would come a day when Gaius wouldn't have to lose sleep over his secret and when Camelot would see his magic as a force for good. There would come a day when Arthur was King and he was free to use his magic whenever he wished. There would come a day when Arthur would turn to him for advice, for a good laugh, or for the chance to simply share a smile.

It would take time and patience—they would fight and bicker and hurl words and objects at each other—but it was happening already.

And _that _is what _he_ would fight for.

* * *

AN: I think that this episode is the most under-appreciated episode of the entire show. I truly believe that this moment is - as I've tried so hard to express here - the defining moment where Merlin permanently solidifies his loyalty to Arthur. In s1, I think that he's just going with the flow, so to speak, and being thrown headfirst into this destiny business, I don't think he knows exactly what it means or exactly how serious it is. He BEGINS to understand the meaning of his destiny during s1, and we see the bond in 1x13, obviously, when Merlin tries to give his life for Arthur's. He is so young, and his sense of morality and the high value he places on friendship just pushes him to protect Arthur anyway. In 2x01, it is the first time his morality is tested to the very extreme (I do not count Nimueh's bid for his loyalty because he was distraught with the death of Gaius and the illness of his mother and because she did poison him in an act of spite, so CLEARLY he wouldn't join her side), and he nearly breaks, but when he overcomes it, he's a stronger person for it.

Lol, sorry for my rant, but I LOVE analyzing characterization. :P I probably could write an essay on this scene, no joke, but I won't bore you to tears.

In other news, I do believe I have my first OBSESSION with a ship. I've generally been canon, and I've lately come to realize that I tolerate and do like some non-canon ships (i.e. Mergana), but being so obsessed with the Merlin-Arthur bromance, I never truly SHIPPED anyone with a fervid passion.

...Until Merthian came along. ;D


	43. A Clash of Arrogance and Wisecracks

Prompt: I made a deal with a friend on the Heart of Camelot site. In exchange for a Merthian drabble, she asked me to write a "surprise me" ficlet. The plot-bunny was too powerful to resist.

Characters/Pairings: Gaius, Uther, Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, (Hunith mentioned)

Ratings/Warnings: Switches from Gaius' POV to Uther's; "missing scenes" from 1x01 (The Dragon's Call)

Word Count: 4,567 (lol! No joke! That's hysterical!)

* * *

**A Clash of Arrogance and Wisecracks**

When he had first become physician to the Pendragons, it had tickled and amused the lords, ladies, and every part of the castle staff like no other, and it had impressed strangers, acquaintances, and friends to no end. Even before he knew the castle well, he had had a habit and a talent for it. In fact, he had been well known for it.

Though he had recently had to restrain himself from doing it when his eyes went and when his joints became stiff—both symptoms of age had suddenly crept up on him overnight, it seemed to Gaius—over the years, it had become a common enough sight to see the rather strange court physician maneuvering easily around corners and bustling about the castle with his nose lodged in a book.

However, it wasn't so a common sight to see the elderly man up doing such a thing so late at night with only the corridor torches illuminating his choice of literature.

And it was even more unnatural to see him doing such a thing with a _letter_ instead of a thick volume.

If anyone had been awake to see him, they would have known immediately that it was no ordinary letter.

What they would _not_ have known was that it was a letter whose contents had consumed him since the moment he had received it and that it was a letter which he had read over more times than he could remember.

Over the course of the day, he had memorized where every blotch and smear of ink marred the page full of familiar handwriting. He knew well where every rare, stray tear had fallen and every point where the shaky quill had punctured the parchment.

And he knew her request word for word.

When he had first received the letter, Gaius had hardly been able to contain his glee. He rarely heard from his beloved half-sister, and letters from her were precious. In fact, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he had kept every last one of them and often reread them whenever he longed for more news and more stories. However, he understood that her life was no easy one and that parchment and writing utensils were far too expensive for her to afford.

So, every chance he had, he had smuggled some of his supplies, which were generously given to him by the King for his own research on herbs, drugs, and medicines, to her so that she could continue to write him from Ealdor and so that she might teach her young son how to write and read…

Merlin. Her young son Merlin. The subject of this letter.

Hunith often wrote about her son, and Gaius grinned and laughed aloud at some of the trouble he got into with his friend Will. Through these letters, Gaius came to know his nephew—his kindness, his bravery, his selflessness, his grace (or more lack thereof—there were _many _tales about this particular trait), his strange way of viewing the world. Through Hunith's eyes, he saw the cheeky smile, and Hunith had such a way with words that he heard every odd piece of wisdom and witty retort as though he were standing in the boy's presence himself. Every little snippet, however small and seemingly meaningless (not one story about Merlin was meaningless, Gaius soon discovered), the physician joyfully gobbled up and fondly stored away.

He had never met Merlin, but he knew enough about him to know that he _wanted_ to meet him.

But not like this. Definitely not like this.

Having had shared so many words about him, it was hard for someone like Gaius _not _to see small signs of magic. Because of the boy's parentage, he had known that it was more than possible that Merlin might have inherited some of his father's talent, but it wasn't until now that Hunith ever said anything outright about Merlin's possible gifts.

And it wasn't until now that it became _real _to him and that fear clenched at his heart.

_He is so much his father's son…and he is so much like you, Gaius…_

It had been a hard decision for her—her conflict was branded onto the letter itself—but she wanted to send him here, to Camelot…because the life in Ealdor was no life for him.

In normal circumstances, Gaius would have heartily agreed. Merlin was far too intelligent, far too talented, and far too…adventurous, inquisitive, and spirited to be forced to live a farmer's life. Besides, he wouldn't see a boy like Merlin broken by the dullness and discontent that often consumed similar young men who couldn't find a way to change their lot in life.

In normal circumstances, Gaius would then have had to worry about _normal _things. About his lack of experience in parenting. About having an extra mouth to feed. About finding the time in his busy physician's schedule to care for another's wellbeing.

But Merlin's case…it _wasn't _normal.

It made those things that normal childless uncles might feel about taking in a nephew that they've never met before seem petty in comparison, and even though those worries played about at the edge of Gaius' mind, he had greater things to worry about.

If he agreed to Hunith's plea, he would have to worry about Uther.

_He is so much his father's son…and he is so much like you, Gaius…_

If he accepted Merlin as his ward, he would be in the direct line of Uther's vision, and that frightened Gaius more than he could explain.

How could he encourage (_should _he even encourage the magic? Was _he_ even aware he had magic?) Merlin when the mentality that magic was evil and wrong smothered them all? How was it that Hunith dared let him take a step into _Camelot_, where pyres burned and axes fell when the word 'magic' was so much as _muttered _in the streets? Did she really trust him to keep her only son—and the only piece of Balinor she had remaining—safe from all the terror?

Apparently, Hunith _did _trust him. Or she would not ask this of him.

But her faith was not enough…not when he did not know if he could trust _himself_ with such a responsibility.

So, as much as he wanted to meet the boy, was this really the best choice? Was it really wise to accept—as he so wanted to do—when Merlin would be in so much danger? Was it worth it to risk Uther discovering that the boy's father was the Dragon-lord Balinor?

_You're overreacting_, a part of Gaius had repeated all day long whenever reluctance and indecision threatened to overpower him. _He might _have _magic, but that doesn't mean that he can use it. Surely since he is untrained, his magic wouldn't be powerful enough to _have _to be controlled and monitored? _

In the following months, Gaius would remember this argument—the argument that changed his mind and convinced him that the magic should be the _least _of his worries and that there really was _nothing _to worry about—and he would laugh so hard that tears would form in his eyes.

In the following months, he wouldn't blame Hunith for not telling him just how _powerful_ Merlin was and just how much of that power he was already capable of commanding without training. Putting that information in a letter that could have fallen into the wrong hands—it would make Gaius shudder to even think.

For now, he was blissfully ignorant of what this decision would mean for him, for Merlin, for Camelot, and above all, for the Prince Arthur.

For now, all he could do was try to be professional and try _not_ leap around like a giddy pony at the prospect of inviting Merlin to come to Camelot and becoming his guardian…

Oh, dear _gods_, his _guardian_…

"Gaius?" a sudden voiced asked from beside him.

Startled, the physician jumped and realized with a jolt that he had made it to his destination and had been standing there staring at Merlin's name written in Hunith's letter for quite some time, and he grinned sheepishly at the guards, who peered at him concernedly and perplexedly.

"Is there something wrong? Did the King send for you? He didn't say—"

Shaking his head in response, Gaius interrupted, "No, he did not ask for me. All the same, I need to speak with him."

The youth who had questioned the physician did not look particularly pleased with him for his lack of propriety and for his unannounced visit, and with his brow still scrunched in disapproval, his gaze flickered to the elder guard on duty, who smirked at his junior and lazily jerked his head toward the door.

"Let's see if he'll take an audience with you." After throwing a knowing look at the letter Gaius was kneading carefully in his gnarled hands, the guard, a twinkle in his eye, added in an undertone, "Though I hardly doubt he could refuse you—even at this time of night."

"Thank you, Brann," the physician murmured.

Brann smiled and knocked on the door before entering and closing the door behind him. Within a moment, the guard opened the door again, gestured Gaius to come in, and said formally, "The King will see you now."

A bubble of anticipation and excitement floated and popped in his chest, and Gaius, suddenly coming to the horrible realization that the King might _refuse_ his request, took a deep breath before entering Uther's bedchambers.

"Sire?" Gaius called softly.

Upon seeing Uther, who was sitting in bed with a short stack of tax reports on his bedside table, look up from the current report he was reviewing, Gaius couldn't help but smile.

It was a habit that he had gotten into long ago… when Ygraine was still alive. Whenever Uther was spending late nights catching up on reports and paperwork, the Queen would often call for her King to come to bed, and if it was a particularly busy day, after her insistences and coaxes finally broke through his concentration, he would unconsciously pick up his work and take it to bed with him.

"It completely defeats the purpose of 'coming to bed.'" Ygraine had once teased her young husband slyly when the three friends were breakfasting together.

Judging from the playful glare she had received from Uther, Gaius had assumed that the paperwork he'd brought with him to bed had been quite forgotten in due time.

"Gaius," Uther greeted informally, running an appraising eye over his old friend, who dragged himself from the fond memories at the sound of the King's voice.

Apparently, he saw nothing in Gaius' posture or countenance that meant bad news for him concerning Camelot or its people's health, and his tense shoulders relaxed immediately. However, that moment of relief disappeared as soon as it appeared when the King looked closer at his friend.

Ignoring the searching green eyes and the growing frown of confusion, Gaius smirked and said pointedly, "You're going to lose your eyesight permanently if you keep this up."

Immediately, Uther snorted and retorted in a similar tone, "Perhaps one should practice what he preaches."

Gaius chuckled gaily, but all the same… he swallowed hardly and tried to remind himself to prepare for disappointment.

"What can I do for you at this hour?" Uther asked, setting aside his work.

The physician's fingers fumbled at Hunith's letter, and after he looked to the crinkled pages again, he asked sheepishly, "I—It is late, isn't it? I'm sorry to disturb you."

"I know you wouldn't without reason," Uther said sensibly, his eyes flickering to the letter in Gaius' hands. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes—no, no, nothing's _wrong_, but there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

Uther nodded patiently, and Gaius said slowly, "I received this letter from Hunith today."

"Hunith," Uther repeated. "I remember her. She and Ygraine became quite close when she stayed with you. She's your…cousin?"

"Half-sister," Gaius corrected as he trailed his eyes over the paper again.

Despite themselves, they always latched on Merlin's name, and he felt a tug at his heart and a warm smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

The words spilled out without any resistance. "I was wondering how you would feel about me accepting a ward." When Uther's eyes widened—with shock or with some other emotion, Gaius couldn't guess—the physician amended, "Or more rather, I would like to ask your permission to accept a ward."

Uther gaped at Gaius for a moment before breaking into a slow grin. Suddenly, the King, who was trying to hide his smile, rolled out of bed and offered Gaius a seat at his dining table.

Once they were seated, Uther asked, "A ward?"

"Yes, Sire. Hunith's son. My nephew—he…"

"I was not aware you had a nephew," Uther said perplexedly. "What is his name?"

Surprised by the King's interest, Gaius replied, "Merlin. His name is Merlin. He is young—not yet twenty—Sire, but he has lived in a small village all his life and has never been to Camelot. I have never met him."

Uther snorted and joked, "So for all we know, we might be allowing a delinquent to run rampant in the castle."

Reminded of Merlin's knack for getting into trouble and of his sharp tongue, Gaius snickered, but he was also reminded of Merlin's more gentle demeanor and began to say confidently, "Oh, I assure you—" However, suddenly realizing what the King had just suggested, the physician stopped abruptly and asked with dancing eyes, "Did you just grant me permission to—?"

"Of course," Uther said with a shrewd smile and with a glint in his eyes that Gaius rarely saw from the King anymore. "You shouldn't even need to ask, old friend. I see how much you want to accept, and I think having the boy around might do you good."

"Do me good?" Gaius asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Arthur and Morgana might be turning my hair grey," Uther said playfully—which made Gaius, knowing full well of the little fight the King and his ward had gotten into the previous day over a new dress that had a neckline "far too low to be proper to wear at court," snicker—and the King continued in a thoughtful tone, "but as a father and guardian, I don't think there's anything more rewarding than watching them grow and conquer every challenge that's thrown their way."

It was times like this that Gaius saw the man Uther had been before the Purge. It was times like this that Gaius could see the good in him and the good he _has _done. Camelot might not be perfect, Gaius might not approve of just how far Uther has gone, and Uther's paranoia of magic might have transformed him into a somewhat merciless and cruel King whenever a topic concerning the practice of said gifts reached his ears, but he did manage to control the abuse of magic effectively.

But more than that, it was times like this that Uther wasn't his King. He was his _friend_.

Shuffling in his seat, Gaius asked quietly, "And if they don't conquer those challenges?"

Uther regarded the physician over the table, and after a moment of silence, he answered with a sympathetic and understanding gleam in his eye, "I'm there for them."

When Gaius, whose initial glee had morphed into a form of tense doubt and uncertainty, sighed, Uther offered confidently, "And if you care for the boy as much as I think you do…you have nothing to worry about. Besides, how much trouble can he get into?"

Touched by Uther's faith in him, Gaius flushed and then scoffed teasingly, "So much for him being a _delinquent_."

Waving his hand dismissively and leaning forward on his elbows, Uther asked, "Do you intend to take Marvin—"

"Merlin," Gaius corrected with a little laugh.

"Odd name—Merlin," Uther mused. Shrugging, he finished his previous question, "Do you intend to take him on as an apprentice? I know that you were considering taking someone in for some time."

It made Gaius blush to think that, in his excitement and nervousness, he _hadn't _even thought about that.

"Perhaps," Gaius mused. "From what I can see, he is quite intelligent, even if his lack of self-preservation says otherwise. He already knows his letters, and he seems to be the type of lad willing to learn. Even if he did not wish to learn my craft," Gaius smiled wickedly, "I can't imagine him escaping from it."

The King chuckled in agreement, "I wouldn't expect you to let him escape without at least teaching him the basics. Though, if truth be told, Gaius," Uther added, "I do hope that the boy is willing to learn from you."

"For Arthur?" Gaius guessed gently and fondly.

Uther nodded. "You are one of my most trusted advisors, and I do believe that I end up working with you more than I do the other councilors. When Arthur becomes King, I don't want a stranger as his physician. He needs someone by his side that he can trust during war...and one he can trust with his own health and with the health of his children."

Warmth flooded Gaius' chest, and suddenly, he became overwhelmed with the feeling and utter _confidence _that Merlin could and would be all that and more for his future King.

"Of course, if that is to be the case, we must hope they don't start off on the wrong foot."

Uther's countenance darkened with exasperation, and he sighed, "I suppose you've heard that Arthur dismissed another one of his squires this afternoon."

Hiding a smile, Gaius said, "Perhaps I have at that."

"He's not going to have any men to command if he keeps at this pace," Uther groused sarcastically.

"No, I hardly think _that_," Gaius comforted. "The men flock to him. They love their Prince."

"Let's hope you are right. But… I fear his cockiness might get him into trouble one day."

"Just as Merlin's tongue might get _him _into trouble one day."

When Gaius excused himself and left the King's chambers nearly half an hour (they spent the time talking about Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin) later to prepare a letter for Hunith, neither of them realized that their predictions would come to pass and that those predictions would prove to be quite true and false at the same time…

Later, they would both think it very ironic that the two young men destined for greatness, two young men destined to be the other's half, would meet in a clash of cocky arrogance and witty wisecracks.

~…~

When Arthur came stomping unannounced into the council chambers, Uther and Morgana were already sitting for their dinner together.

It rather surprised him that Morgana agreed at all to join him at all…especially considering their little argument last night about the sorcerer Collins, but he was grateful for it all the same. The three of them so rarely ate their meals together that Uther had recently made an effort to invite the both of them to dine with him as often as his duties allowed.

Having been interrupted by the Prince's entrance, Morgana shot Arthur a glare, but Uther nibbled at a strawberry, eyed his son, and said blandly, "You're late."

"Forgive me, Father," Arthur said tensely, plopping unceremoniously down at the table across from Morgana. "I had an _idiot _to escort to the dungeons."

"From what I heard from Gwen," Morgana smirked, "your supposed idiot was making an idiot of _you_."

Arthur scowled and floundered for words before retorting, "_He's _the one who ended up in the dungeons. I'd think it's clear that _he's _the idiot."

"And just who exactly is this _he_?" Uther asked suspiciously with a frown.

The Prince stiffened, and after stabbing at some meat and hiding his eyes, he muttered, "It was some peasant—" Uther's eyes immediately narrowed. _Some peasant_, his ass. Uther saw it in the fire, a fire of both annoyance and reluctant and somewhat baffled _respect, _in his son's eyes… "—who interrupted training, challenged me, and tried to fight me."

"Cheeky fellow," Uther commented. "Brave, I'd say, to try his luck against you."

"But _stupid_. He must be new to Camelot, though," Arthur added, "He didn't know who I was."

"And it was absolutely necessary for you to put him in the dungeons for _that_?" Uther asked with a hint of humor and exasperation in his tone.

However, his question went unanswered when Morgana snorted and denied, "You were tormenting your servant to impress your friends, and the boy stepped in and stood up to you! Don't lie, Arthur Pendragon: you put him in the dungeons because he embarrassed you in front of your men."

_Ah, that might explain Arthur's servant's sudden resignation_…Uther mused.

"I meant nothing by it, Morgana," Arthur scoffed breezily, ignoring her jab to his pride. "I was _teasing _Trent—just messing with him—because he made a silly mistake and—"

"When will you realize that your so-called _teasing _is otherwise known to most sane people as bullying? You humiliated the poor boy—_both _of them, I should say—and your so-called idiot was right to put his foot down and tell you off."

Arthur's scowl deepened, and he shot back, "That is—"

"And it's no wonder you go through servants like you do! It would take a saint to put up with you! I don't think anyone shares your _sense of humor_, and if they did, they're—"

"Enough!" Uther commanded angrily, glaring between Morgana and Arthur. "Arthur, I don't necessarily care how you treat your servants nor do I care how you see fit to discipline them, but if what Morgana says is true, don't you go on thinking that I approve of you publicly humiliating them. How does that look in the eyes of the people?"

Under his father's stern eyes, Arthur deflated and said nothing.

More gently, Uther added, "We are sworn to protect the people, and servants are a part of the people. You need their support, and that is not how you go about doing it."

"You're right, Father," Arthur mumbled, an embarrassed and sheepish flush creeping onto his cheeks. "I didn't think."

"No, you didn't. And thanks to your foolish game, I have to find you a new servant if you do not do so yourself."

Sighing, Uther waved a hand and dismissed the matter. "But that'll be a problem for later. I'd still like to know who is locked in our dungeons."

"Well, he won't be in there much longer," Arthur said with a diabolical grin. "For some reason, Gaius bartered with me to get him out tomorrow morning and into the stocks instead. It was his idea, actually, Morgana, so don't start. Was muttering about "teaching him a lesson" or something like that. Not that Merlin _doesn't _deserve it—"

Morgana gave a smug grin and said something along the lines of, "I knew it. I knew that you _liked _him challenging you. He impressed you, didn't he? You wouldn't have remembered his name otherwise."

Uther, on the other hand, froze.

_Merlin. Gaius' boy_.

"Merlin?" he gasped in a shocked tone.

Immediately, Morgana and Arthur stopped bickering at the sound of the strange timbre in the King's voice and stared at him in confusion.

Quirking his eyebrow, his son asked, "Father, what—?"

Suddenly, Uther started snickering at the irony. "What a way to go about making friends, Arthur! Oh, Gaius is never going to hear the end of this. I guess I was right in thinking he'd be a delinq—"

"How are Merlin and Gaius connected at _all_?" Arthur interrupted in his impatience and frustration.

It didn't escape Uther's notice that that was the second time Arthur called the boy by his given name.

Morgana was right, and he was right to suspect that Arthur knew exactly who '_some peasant'_ was. This Merlin impressed Arthur in a way that few ever have.

"Merlin is Gaius' new ward, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened, and Morgana's hand flew up to her mouth to cover her giggles.

"You don't mean—"

"Yes, I do. Gaius was thinking about taking him on as an apprentice, and we were both rather hoping you two might meet on more pleasant terms."

Arthur blinked and muttered in annoyance, "I can't believe this. He's living in the castle, he might be a future physician in our court, and I will most likely have to see the idiot and put up with his cheekiness everyday now."

Uther started to laugh. "Like I said, what a way to go about making friends."

~…~

And what a way it was, indeed.

Uther hadn't been entirely sure how to react when he had heard about the mace battle and the wreckage in the Lower Town. At first, it amused him, but seeing as Gaius told him he had reprimanded Merlin for it, Uther had felt that it would probably be best if he showed no sign of his amusement when he reprimanded Arthur.

And it _had_ been rather irritating to remember that he would have to pay for the damage, organize people to help clean up their mess, apologize to those whose wares had been destroyed on behalf of his son (or better yet, get _Arthur _apologize himself)…

It had been easy enough to forget his amusement after that. Anyway, he had since decided that this rivalry between the Prince and Gaius' nephew was utterly ridiculous.

So it was then, considering their two past meetings, that Uther couldn't help but become slack-jawed in awe, shock, and overpowering gratitude as he looked between the dagger embedded in Arthur's chair and Merlin, who had just pulled his son out of the way of said dagger and who was avoiding Arthur's stare.

"You saved my boy's life," Uther breathed. "The debt must be repaid."

Humbly, Merlin inclined his head, and obviously uncomfortable under the gaze of all of the guests, the boy stuttered, "Oh, well…"

"Don't be so modest. You shall be rewarded."

"No, honestly, you don't have to, Your Highness."

For a moment, Uther wondered if this really was the same boy who had shown so much insolence the other day, but looking into those strange blue eyes—he saw it.

There was something about him…

"No, absolutely," the King insisted. "This merits something quite special."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur look between the two of them cautiously, and it was when Merlin said, "Well…" that Uther made up his mind.

This boy had just proven his bravery, and he could hold his own against Arthur.

_He had saved Arthur's life_…without thinking, without regard for his own…

He wouldn't shy away from Arthur's "humor" or from his demands, and he wouldn't be afraid to be honest with him, and maybe, just maybe, Arthur could keep the same servant for longer than a year…

And it was _too _good an opportunity to pass up.

"You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Uther only vaguely heard Arthur's protest over the sound of applause around them, and from the corner of the room, he noticed Gaius giving him an approving smirk.

* * *

AN: Tonight's episode of Merlin - the most heartbreaking episode of the entire show. That is all I should say about it before I rewatch it later. :)


	44. Enough

Prompt: Got pulled into another drabble exchange... this one had a time limit, so... :) My exchange buddy asked for Dark!Merlin.

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Morgana

Rating/Warnings: **THIS ONE IS RATED T **for violence, whump, and language; BAMF/dark!Merlin – potential OOCness; switching POVs, Post-Reveal, set after 4x06

Word Count: 2727

* * *

**Enough**

It was a rather silly story as to how he had gotten into this mess.

It all led back to Arthur and Destiny's unfair fondness of torturing him, of course, but that wasn't really the point.

Because _he_ was the one who had awakened in Morgana's dear care two days ago. Because _he _was the one who had been lucky enough to get stuck in a dungeon enchanted to hold people who possessed magic. Because _he _was the one who had been mercilessly questioned about the new defenses that Camelot had installed against _her _and _he _who had been mercilessly questioned about _"Emrys."_ Because _he _was the one who had been beaten when he instead taunted her with his "irritating smirk" and "insolence."

Arthur _hadn't _been the one, and _that _was what mattered.

Merlin, his throbbing head resting against the cool cell wall, hid a sigh of exasperation and a groan as footsteps clonked toward him. He didn't resist or react as they unlocked the door, but when thick hands wrapped around his upper arms and began to manhandle him into a standing position, the young warlock's eyes flew open, and he said with a bright sarcasm, "I _can _walk on my own, thank you."

The two men looked at each other, and the more ugly of the two, displaying a set of yellowed and crooked teeth, snorted, squeezed the warlock's arm tighter, and sneered, "Not from my point of view_, boy_."

"Careful, big fellow," Merlin warned with a hint of mockery in his tone. "I know that this is all _terribly_ exciting for you, but Morgana wouldn't be too happy with you if you damaged her goods, now would she?"

He was rewarded for his cheekiness with a stinging blow across the face, and despite his determination to show no pain to these bastards and despite his promise to make damn well sure they didn't _ever _think they broke him, Merlin winced as the strike reopened the wound on his forehead and forced him to stagger and twist to catch himself. Liquid fire surged through his stomach and ribs at the quick movement, and he wheezed as the men guffawed and shoved him forward.

"The thanks I get for trying to look out for your wellbeing," Merlin muttered jokingly.

This time a knee went sailing into his gut.

It was unfortunate that the cell burned his magic. Otherwise, he could have escaped two days ago, avoided this pain, and made it look as though a drunk guard was to blame.

This was only the third time he'd been taken out of his cell, but, when he was _out_ of that damn suffocating cell, he had his secret to keep. Arthur had ordered him to keep his magic hidden from them—the people of Camelot, particularly, and by extension, _her_—as long as he possibly could until he could talk the council around, and the warlock had agreed.

In retrospect, it had been rather stupid of him.

What Merlin hadn't realized was that, now that Arthur knew about the magic, he didn't care about being so careful anymore.

He had had enough of being careful. He had had enough of hiding.

And as her glee at this game increased, Merlin's patience decreased.

As did his resolve.

He was sick and tired of this.

He was _Emrys_. He _could _end this and be back at Arthur's side, where he belonged. He didn't _have _to be her plaything. He didn't _have _to be subjected to this humiliation.

So, really, what _was _stopping him from taking advantage of her ignorance, from overpowering her, and from bringing her back to Camelot? What was stopping him from delivering her to justice and preventing more innocents from being slaughtered in her thirst for revenge?

Gory and horrible images flashed through his mind's eye. He saw the burning fields and homes. He saw the charred flesh and smoky black skies. He saw the tears streaking down ash- and grime-coated cheeks.

He heard the sobs, cries, and shrieks of those dying…and of those alive who _wished _themselves dead.

And this was only _one _of the villages that he and Arthur had seen two days ago.

Enough was enough.

Tumultuous blue eyes rolled and stormed with refreshed anger, anger that had been bottled away for _far_ too long, and at the core of the Emrys' rage—pity.

He had given her too many second chances, too many chances to redeem herself.

There would be no more second chances. There would be no more mercy.

He couldn't allow this to go on. He was done, and despite Arthur's orders, he wasn't going to hold back.

There really was _nothing _stopping him from preventing any more pain and suffering by her hand.

And besides, since _when_ did he ever _obey_ Arthur's orders?

~…~

The witch smirked victoriously as Arthur's manservant was dragged before her, bleeding, glassy-eyed…his narrow shoulders folded inward on himself as if he was trying to ward away the pain…

It was a _sweet _and beautiful sight to see him—the meddling, buffoon _Merlin_, whose sharp tongue and stubborn head made it _so _hard to be tolerant and made it _so _hard to restrain herself, the ever-loyal servant of her dearest brother—so broken.

The guards tossed him to the ground, and Morgana's smirk grew as he weakly struggled to right himself.

"Leave us," Morgana ordered the men haughtily, her pale gaze fixated on the man she intended to be the key to Arthur's doom.

He would come for the boy—that much was certain—and she _needed _to wrench information from Merlin _before _that happened.

Because…even when she was still Uther's loving ward—even _then, _though Arthur might have denied it and must still be denying it, there was no one he trusted more than Merlin.

But even more importantly, he had a connection to Emrys.

After the defeat of her Fomorrah, what else could she assume? Emrys might fight for Arthur, but that didn't explain the eerie feeling she had in her gut when she saw that strange, desperate gleam in his eye when she walked in to see him searching through her belongings. And again whenever the jar was in her hands.

That didn't explain how _he _knew where her hidden hovel was when the only outsider that had ever been there was Merlin and when she had placed a charm on Agravaine's horse that would keep unwanted visitors from tracking him to her hut.

When the thought first passed through her mind, she had thought it silly, but then coincidences…Camelot's impossible wins and victories…

She _had _to know what he knew.

And it was unfortunate—no, unfortunate was too mild a word—it was _infuriating _that he wasn't cooperating.

_It is only a matter of time_, she assured herself, taking a deep breath.

As soon as the doors closed behind the guards, Morgana smirked, "Are you ready to talk, Merlin?"

Kneeling at her feet, Merlin draped one arm across his bruised and broken chest and peeked up at her from under his fringe of dark hair. A trail of blood ran from his hairline and down his sharp cheekbone and elfin chin, where it fell and soaked into his ever-present neckerchief and splattered the cobblestone beneath him.

He didn't speak, but those stormy blue eyes, chiseled from ice, stared at her with an inhuman intensity.

The witch couldn't read him, and for a moment, she was completely unbalanced.

Morgana had always had a talent for understanding men's weaknesses. She had a talent for exploiting those weaknesses—whatever they may be—and using them to her advantage. Even in Camelot, she had called upon this talent to manipulate Uther and even Arthur do what she wanted them to.

She could know a man's heart and turn it against him, and Morgause had taught her about pain and womanly charm and other such things that resulted in the downfall of men.

Morgana made it a personal goal to _know _her enemies—inside and out. What made them, and what destroyed them.

Merlin, however—she thought she could read him like an open book, but…

His glare unnerved her.

However, Morgana's feeling of discomfort was soon overpowered by amusement when she realized once again that he was _silent._

"What's the matter, Merlin?" Morgana simpered, crouching down to grasp his chin. "No cheek for me today?"

Morgana held his eyes for what seemed like an eternity, but when (to her immense surprise and wicked glee) Merlin continued to stare unblinkingly, the witch, believing that she had made certain progress with him, thrust his face away with a smirk and laughed cynically, "I never would have thought the day would come." She raised her hand over him and said with shrug, "I suppose you make things easy for me today."

There was only the slightest tightening of Merlin's jaw, and the steady blue eyes narrowed the barest amount.

Power rushed through her veins, and her fingers squeezed the air over Merlin, who inhaled sharply but who did not cry out (it would be no fun to start with the screams…Morgana did so enjoy to _build _up to them, even if she had yet to make Merlin scream for mercy) as the spell sent a ripple of fire course through his limbs.

Her triumphant smirk faded when he opened his eyes again.

They were just as cold and indifferent as before.

Where—where were the spitting retorts? Where was the dark humor? And the morbid chuckles and the strong declarations? Where was the disdain and the determination? Where was the _rebellion_?

A small part of her trembled and wondered how it was that she felt that _she _was the prey and Merlin the predator…

The moment the thought passed through her mind, Morgana had to stifle giggles.

_I will_ _have my answers, _Morgana snickered smugly to herself, her desire for the key to power—the key to Arthur and Emrys' downfall—ambition, and her pleasure of imagining Merlin's untimely end by her hand (good riddance—he had been a thorn in her side for _far _too long. Enough was enough) overpowering all else.

"So, Merlin, are you going to tell me what I wish to know?" Morgana taunted airily—_flirtatiously_ even.

"You really never listen, do you?" Merlin finally asked with a gentle calmness and perplexity in his voice that sent involuntary shivers down Morgana's spine.

No, it wasn't so much his voice as the twisted, darkly impish smile—a smile so unlike the goofy, dimpled one that Morgana had come to know and hate—that went with it.

"_What?_" Morgana hissed in a mixture of surprise and anger.

With a small nod, he said seriously, "_Exactly_."

"You haven't said a _word_," Morgana sneered, her temper growing at the fool's peaceful, matter-of-fact tone.

Cocking his head, Merlin regarded her for a moment. "I didn't need to."

In other circumstances, Morgana might have snorted and rolled her eyes in exasperation at the boy's silly riddles, but somehow, with those words, Morgana faltered in her confusion, and deep within her, something coiled, tensed, and began to constrict her lungs.

Taking advantage of her silence, Merlin chuckled darkly and said, "Not that it would matter if I _did _say anything. You wouldn't listen to a mere _servant, _would you Morgana Pendragon?"

Stiffening, the witch scowled at his use of her full name, which branded her as one of _them_ by blood...

But it was more than that. The way _he_ said it—the way _Merlin _said it, the way he _used _it—it sounded like thunder ghosting across the lands, and she _felt _it, like a shadow of a storm cloud passing over the sun.

"And why should you?" Merlin shrugged, his voice taking on an ironic tone. "Why should you listen to me when I'm a servant? Why should you even care to listen when I say that I'm loyal to Arthur and that that will never change? Why should you listen to _anyone_ when they are _clearly_ so much _less _than what _you _are?"

Rage boiled through her blood at the obvious insults in his rant, and she snarled, "Do you think me _deaf_, Merlin? All I've heard from you during the past few days—"

"You might have heard," Merlin admitted, his eyes gleaming eerily. "But you never really _listen_. Your passion and impulsiveness deafen you. Your ambition blinds you. Otherwise, you'd hear. You'd see. You'd _know_."

Strings of shrieking words and curses tempted to spill from her lips, but suddenly, when despite his wounds and injuries, he gracefully picked himself up from the floor at her feet, she couldn't. Under Merlin's spellbinding, deadly gaze, she froze.

"You really don't listen to your instincts, do you?" Merlin asked again, a small smirk twitching at his lips. "Otherwise, you would have known better than to challenge me."

What the manservant just _dared _to suggest shocked Morgana out of her frozen trance, and she jeered and scoffed proudly, "I could—"

"You could what, Morgana?" he interrupted in a deadly quiet tone. "If you were really listening, you would know that you _couldn't_."

Her lungs and heart constricted further as he took a step forward, and instinctively, she took a step back in response.

This wasn't the Merlin she knew. This wasn't the foolish boy that stumbled into everyone and everything's business; this wasn't the idiot that trailed after Arthur like a lost puppy.

This man's eyes might have been colored like a cobalt sea, but they were dark as midnight, and they spat fire that scorched and permeated everything around him. He might have been lean and wiry, but his shoulders were squared, his stance was confident, and he held himself like the mightiest of kings. His face, defined by his soaring set of cheekbones, was more like that of the Fae of legend than that of a human being.

_This _man made her fingers tremble and limbs begin to shake.

_Stop being so ridiculous, Morgana_, the terrified witch snapped at herself, pushing away the uneasiness and the horror that steadily crept up her spine.

_This is _Merlin.

"You think that you can do these things to me," the young man whispered, "to Arthur, to Camelot, to _everyone _both inside and outside of Camelotbecause you have the power to do so. Because you have the magic to do so. And yet…for all your supposed power, for all the magic that you boast to possess—you must not understand it half as well as you think, and in your arrogance, you dare to command something you don't understand. You dare to tarnish it with your ignorance. You dare to enslave it to your corrupted vision of righteousness. It is wasted on you. It is wasted on one who doesn't _listen _to her magic."

_No, no_…_he doesn't know what he's taking about. He hasn't a _clue_. _

The wounds on his face began to close.

"Because if you _hadn't_ acted like a spoiled child, if you hadn't felt yourself _above _it when it is a gift above you, if you used accepted it as a force that commands you just as much as you do it—if you had _listened_ to your magic, you would have long since felt _mine_."

Morgana's eyes widened, and the fear gathering in her chest exploded up her throat, which sabotaged her, rendering her unable to speak, to swallow, to breathe, and down through her limbs, which collapsed beneath her as she knelt before _him _and as she choked on his true name.

"Emrys," she whispered.

For the briefest second, it was no longer Emrys, but Merlin who towered over her. His clear eyes flashed with pity, sorrow, and remorse for what had been and for what had to be…

"You should have listened, Morgana. This might have been prevented. But…enough is enough, isn't it?" Merlin Emrys said, his hand raising and blue eyes glittering with an undercurrent of pure gold.

He had been right. Morgana _couldn't _do a single thing as the world shattered around them.

* * *

AN: I mean it now. *chants* No more of these. Heart of Gold needs to be updated. ;P


	45. See Me

Prompt: Write a drabble based around / inspired by the song "Iris" - Goo goo Dolls

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Language; Post-Reveal

Word Count: 380

* * *

**See Me**

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Pushing down the now-familiar wave of nausea and blinking up wearily at his King, Merlin suddenly smirked. "Why are you coated in mud?"

"Don't change the subject."

Merlin sobered and said seriously, "I answered every question you asked me truthfully."

After staring at his kneeling servant with blazing eyes, Arthur slowly crouched down and said with an undercurrent of anger coloring his voice, "Not that. _That_."

He pointed to the shackles.

"What about—?"

"Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur interrupted, pulling a key out of his pocket. "Guinevere and I slipped away to clear our thoughts and talk about...everything. Almost immediately after we left, out of bloody _nowhere_, your dragon bombards us, pins me to the ground, and shouts himself hoarse about how—"

Arthur's voice faltered, and with softening eyes, he finished, "—much of an ignorant _idiot _I am."

"It's about time that Kilgharrah lectured someone _else_ for being an idiot," Merlin teased, hesitating momentarily when Arthur gestured for him to hold up his hands and smiling knowingly at the implied apology in his words.

"Oh, don't worry. He had _plenty _to say about your stupidity, too."

"Typical."

After Arthur carefully unlocked the cuffs, Merlin's magic, free from the smothering restraints, danced and sprinted through his veins like a giddy child, causing him to release an involuntary groan of pleasure as its golden touch washed away all fatigue and pain.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Wincing and averting his eyes, the warlock, whose heart clenched with fear, admitted with a sigh, "I didn't want you to see me… like this."

The King's brow furrowed, and Merlin continued in a whisper, "I was afraid…that _you'd _be afraid…of what I am—an anomaly amongst men, a creature of magic—and that you'd see…only that."

Arthur stiffened, and after what felt like an interminable silence, he gripped Merlin's shoulder and said with fiercely sincere eyes, "Your magic might be interwoven into your very being, but you are _human_, Merlin. Don't let anyone _ever_ convince you otherwise."

After a moment of stunned disbelief, warmth flooded the warlock, and the skin around his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile.

It might have taken him three days, but Arthur _understood_, and that was all he had ever wanted.

"Now, come on. We need to talk, and the dungeons are getting sick of you."

* * *

AN: Heya! Sorry, I know that I've got quite a few prompts I need to get done for you all, and I apologize (again) for taking so long. :) But just to let you all know: this fic and Heart of Gold are lower on the priority list at the moment because 1) I've taken on a "secret Santa" fic exchange that I need to complete in the next month and 2) final exams are just around the corner. :s

Thanks for reading and for being so supportive! You guys rock!


	46. Watching

AN: Well, it's been a little while *sheepish grin* I have been busy with school and have been writing other things. So... Last night, when I couldn't find the motivation/necessary inspiration to kick myself into gear with the next chapter of Heart of Gold (it's about 200 words at the mo *sighs*) and when I wanted to WRITE, I decided to start on the next set of challenges at the Heart of Camelot. This was the result. :D I know I have a few requests pending, and I won't forget. Those who requested Merthian from me... I shall direct you to my fic "Holly Leaves" in the hopes that you won't be upset with me if I never get around to writing more romance. ;)

Now. About this. Ever since writing "Something More," I've LOVED this style - first person, present tense - so ALL of these ficlets in this challenge will be written like this. It's FUN. Try it.

So... on that note: Ocean, I think you're going to like this one. ;) Enjoy!

* * *

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word FASCINATE (fascination, fascinating, etc) in it  
Characters/Pairings: Hunith, Merlin  
Ratings/Warnings: Erm... I think it's safe. :)  
Word Count: 396

* * *

**Watching**

I watch him blink his eyes open for the first time, and I can't remember seeing anything more beautiful…or more terrifying than the deep blue-gold of his eyes.

I watch him take his first steps, those eyes dancing with laughter, and even though I rush forward when he stumbles, he steadies himself without my help and finishes the journey into my arms.

I watch him cock his head in fascination as he contemplates the world around him, his questions and extraordinary observations rolling off his tongue at top speed, and I can't help but laugh.

I wish I could see the world through his unique eyes.

I watch his brow furrow whenever I grab his pudgy hands and tell him _no magic, Merlin_…and whenever I remind him that his gifts make him special.

It breaks my heart to see the confusion and growing understanding and fear in his eyes.

I watch him fiddle with his food, and my heart clenches when he finally lifts his head, pained blue eyes boring into me, and whispers, "I learned what a bastard is."

I watch as a flower sprouts beneath his fingertips and as a tender smile touches his lips, and I'm amazed at my child's strength.

I watch him wince as I dab at a cut over his eye and accidentally brush over his bruises, and after Merlin and I both thank Will wordlessly and I send him home, my own tears, tears of frustration and pain, mingle with his when he finally chokes in shame, "I'm a monster, aren't I?"

I watch his eyes darken as he grows, as he realizes that his free spirit is trapped and will most likely never be released, and even though I feel helpless and _angry_ that I can do nothing to stop it, I feel blessed that the burden of his secret, the indirect hatred poisoning the air, does not prevent him from smiling and finding something to live for…even if he has yet to find a purpose for his magic.

I watch him begin his journey, and when he tosses one last look back at me, I wave and smile and swallow over the lump of pride in my throat, and even though I'll miss him and worry endlessly... I know I can no longer keep watching because I feel _it._

Fate. Faith.

He will find himself in Camelot.

* * *

AN: I love Hunith. So much.

Anyway, I'm going to be promoting this fic on Heart of Gold whenever I get the next chapter up, but I'm going to do it here too because it deserves it. **Tonzura123's Kay. **Completely unrelated to my Kay in HG, but I was over the MOON with happiness when I saw it posted on the front page. It's full of brilliance, and better yet, it's totally canon. Check it out!

Oz out


	47. Embracing

AN: Yayyy! Another one! By the way, all drabbles in this challenge, I have decided, will be written in the first-person-present-tense style. Just because I have so much fun doing it. ^^ Enjoy!

* * *

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word PASSIONATE in it  
Characters/Pairings: Gwen, Gaius, Arthur, Merlin; mild Arwen  
Ratings/Warnings: 5x13 AU (here be spoilers!)  
Word Count: 396

* * *

**Embracing**  
It is Gaius who gives him away.

As he gazes upon the sorcerer on the cliff, there is an undeniable shimmer in his eyes, and even _before_ I ask him _who _that man—not a sorcerer, a _man_, a _hero_—is, even _before _I receive the answer, an answer thick with his respect, pride, and _love,_ I think I knew…

That shimmer, that tone—those are reserved for Merlin and Merlin alone.

However, it isn't until Gaius, after a few days' absence, rides in with the news that Arthur is still alive…and in Merlin's care—it isn't until Gaius, after his eyes betray the truth of the severity of my husband's injury and after he hands me the royal seal, tells me that it is in Merlin we can trust with his safe return…that I finally begin to realize.

_It was Merlin; it was_ always _Merlin_.

And I have faith. Because it is Merlin, _always_ Merlin, who will bring him home.

This does not stop me from feeling nothing but raw relief and joy when they ride, side-by-side, into the courtyard, and after a mad race through the castle, I vault down the stairs and envelop Arthur in a passionate embrace. He is momentarily unbalanced, but slowly, tenderly, his warm arms wrap around me, and he whispers, "It's alright, Guinevere. It's alright."

After a few moments of standing together, drinking in each other's presence, I rest my cheek against his chest, and I see Merlin, like the stable-hands and knights, quietly backing away so as to not encroach upon our reunion. Even though his head is bowed, there is no mistaking the tears that are slipping down his cheeks or the little smile forming at the corners of his lips.

This—without Merlin, without his magic, my Arthur would be dead. In fact, he'd be dead a thousand times over.

And he is _backing away_…as though he isn't one of us, as though he isn't worthy to share this moment with us…

He's been there every step of the way. For both of us.

As if sensing my distraction, Arthur turns to follow my line of sight and loosens his hold on me, and staring at Merlin, I step away and approach the warlock, whose eyes flicker to his King before fixing on me.

I embrace him with every bit of enthusiasm as I had Arthur.


	48. Shuddering

AN: Here's another one for you! I'm hoping beyond hope to get another HG chapter up in two weeks at latest! Thank you for being so patient with me, HG-readers!

* * *

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word FORLORN in it

Characters/Pairings: Merlin and Arthur

Ratings/Warnings: Post-Reveal AU; set in s4/s5-ish... *shrugs*

Word Count: 354

* * *

**Shuddering**

"You know what I don't…?"

Arthur's voice is so soft that I can hardly hear it, and sensing the _vulnerability_ underlying the weariness in his tone, my hands immediately freeze over whatever mindless task it is that I'm doing. "Arthur?"

He sighs and leans against the windowsill, sapphire eyes fixated on the empty courtyard below. "Do you ever wonder…just how many people have died down there, Merlin?"

Despite the gentleness of his speech, there is something more in his words. It isn't bitter; it isn't angry…it isn't even accusatory, but I still feel the weight of each word.

And I see the fires. I hear the screams of those dying and those left behind ringing in my ears, and as always, I wonder how people could so much as _look_ at the cobblestones without imagining the flesh, blood, and tears of hundreds—of _thousands_—spilling before them…

"I do," I admit softly, shuddering as I banish the phantoms from my mind. "All the time. Every time I ride in, every time I walk by, I wonder how everyone can smile and laugh after all the horror and pain that it has had to witness…"

When I trail off, he doesn't move, and those intense eyes continue to stare below. "Some of them deserved it," he says eventually.

"Yes."

My agreement makes him start, and his eyes flicker to me immediately, wide with confusion and disbelief, and as he studies me, it is my turn to stare at the dark courtyard... a hell on Earth that cruelly mocks us with every lively smile it sees, with every laugh it carries, a hell that has long since been the main site of countless nightmares...

And the last place that any sorcerer—be they friend or foe, loyal ally or treasonous, revenge-driven enemy—often saw before burning.

"Yes, some deserved it," I murmur slowly. After closing my eyes briefly, I shake my head and turn to my king with a forlorn smile. "And some didn't."

From the look on his face, from the sympathy and understanding dawning in his eyes, I know I have passed his test.


	49. Realizing

AN: ...well, this was completely unintentional. I should have waited to post the 'forlorn' drabble...or perhaps I should posted it when I finished it earlier this week. *shrugs* This one's been on my mind for a long time, and it was partly written, so... ta da? :D

Thank you so much to you who've reviewed 'forlorn' in the...hour or so that it's been up! I hope this quick update was a pleasant surprise...even if it won't make you feel very pleasant at the end. *sheepish grin*

* * *

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word HAUNTING in it  
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Audrey the cook  
Ratings/Warnings: K; mildly OOC, depending on how you look at it - SUPER-angsty/doubtful!Merlin.  
Word Count: 399

* * *

**Realizing**

"Morning," I greet Audrey as I enter the kitchens.

The cook, who is usually at her least grumpy in the mornings and who seems to be fond of me, if only because of her desire to 'fatten me up' (when I'm not nicking food from her myself, that is), responds with a mixture of a sigh and grunt, and after I take the proffered plate of food for Prince Arthur, she rubs her eyes and yawns.

The dark shadows under her glazed eyes worry me, and considering she isn't yelling at any of the kitchen maids, I have _very_ good reason to believe something's wrong. I don't necessarily expect an answer from the tough woman, but that doesn't stop me from asking, "Are you alright?"

She shrugs and explains, "Me poor little one had nightmares last night. All night."

All too familiar with those nights, I cringe, and I think I'm just about to offer my sympathies and a comforting smile when she continues, "But I shouldn't be grouchin'. We've all had our fair share of sneakin' sorcerers in our nightmares, eh?"

A mind-numbing pang forces my heart to a stuttering stop, and I blink stupidly at her. Without waiting for a response from me, she adds furiously, "Them and their bloody magic is unnatural. Evil. They don't belong 'ere."

"…Right," I finally manage with a forced grin, and before she can detect the tremble in my voice, I make my excuses and joke about avoiding Arthur's temper for once, and I escape.

And I sink against the nearest lonely wall I find.

Guilt tears at me, and I am disgusted. I am disgusted with Uther for destroying us with fear of our brothers, but mostly, I am disgusted with _myself_.

Because I have nightmares of blonde hair and scarlet cloaks, and I, the oh-so-great-and-mighty Emrys, destined to subdue the fear, have done _nothing_.

Tears slide. Eyes burn. I realize, now more than ever, that I am a failure.

Because haunting and creeping amongst the shadows, what am_ I_ to them, those I have _sworn_ to protect, but a nightmare? A monster cloaked in damned secrecy, formed from the darkest depths of the human consciousness? A nightmare that only inspires the spawning of _more_ nightmares? When those shadows are all that I've ever known, all that I've ever been…what else could I possibly be?

I have _magic_, after all.

* * *

AN: Nightmares seems to be a recurring theme at the moment. Eh, perhaps the next one'll be fluffy to make up for this, but I kinda need to be in this dark mood for HG, so I say THANK YOU, DARK-MUSE. ;D


	50. Heaven

AN: This felt amazing. This. Seriously. Felt. Amazing. I haven't written anything in ages, but guess what? Finals are DONE, I have officially finished my first year of college, and yeah, I may be in summer school, but I now have time to write!

Now...HG fans - I'm not even going to try to apologize right now for the wait because it is...*blushes* Awful. I'm an awful person. However, you may be happy to hear that I've been _slooooooowly_ working on the next chapter, and the good news is that it's nearly 4k words right now, and I will try to get that up this weekend. ;)

I promised a few people a continuation of the last drabble, but this happened instead. It was written in a rush and is probably riddled with errors, but I'm just so happy to have POSTED something for you guys.

It's as fluffy as a unicorn, so enjoy!

* * *

Prompt: None, really; I was inspired by the lyric below from Warrant's "Heaven"

Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Gwen

Ratings/Warnings: K; Arwen; Post-reveal

Word Count: 1113

* * *

"I don't need to be the king of the world.

As long as I'm the hero of this little girl

Heaven isn't too far away"

~"Heaven" - Warrant~

* * *

**Heaven**

_"…thur_."

I stir at the sound—an annoying one at that, my barely conscious mind automatically registers—but I'm so deep, so soft, I'm hardly able to brush off the heavy blanket of sleep.

Distantly, I feel him shake my shoulder, and I hear an excited exclamation of my name before a magical shock—I've lately become _increasingly_ familiar with this tactic of his, one I'm discovering is a personal favorite of his—races up my arm, forcing me to fling myself upright and swat at my Court Sorcerer.

_"Mer—!"_

My irritated protest dies from my lips when I see his beaming face and shining eyes, and it comes rushing back to me.

And for a second, I am lost, and I'm unable to discern my fury at him and Gaius for knocking me out and dragging me out here—because it was _completely _unnecessary, and I am going to put them _both _into the stocks for this, magic or not, and _then_ we'll see who exactly is the one who gives the orders—from my dawning sense of…

_Dear gods._

My insides are nibbling on themselves as I rush and stumble to my feet, and I hardly care how strangled my voice sounds when I run my hands through my hair and stutter nonsense in my excitement and anxiousness.

When Merlin steadies me and laughs joyously, I hardly hear, and it's when he begins to lead me into the chambers that a sudden terror, hot and indescribable, completely overtakes me and roots me to the spot.

"Arthur," the warlock says gently, patting the hand I guess I must've used to hold his tunic sleeve in a death grip. "All is well. Come. They're waiting for you."

And at his calm assurance and bright smile, I hesitantly, tentatively, take a step, and when I enter with my friend by my side, I neither see Gaius and the midwife bustling about in the room nor do I notice Merlin gently unravel my fingers from his sleeve and step aside. No, my eyes are locked onto the woman in bed and the little bundle she holds in her arms.

Her lips curve upward in a tender smile, and when she notices me, she looks up, her eyes smiling even more than Merlin's had.

"Guinevere," I whisper.

Her tender smile becomes a full-fledged grin, and she says, "Come here, Arthur. Come meet our daughter."

"_Daughter,"_ I repeat dazedly, a grin matching my queen's, my physician's, and my sorcerer's slowly spreading across my face.

It's all so surreal as tears of happiness bead in my eyes, and I don't know where to put my feet until I'm there, by her side, and as I wrap one arm around my wife and kiss her passionately, I look down at the baby—_our _baby.

_Our daughter._

And she's beautiful. So delicate, so small. So, so small. With tiny ringlets of chestnut and wide, curious blue eyes. Mine. _Ours._

Guinevere gently nudges me, and before I know it, I'm holding our child. Our darling.

And I can hardly believe it when Guinevere nuzzles up into my side, her loving gaze on our princess, and says, "Congratulations, Arthur. You're a father."

_A father_.

"_I'm a father," _I repeat slowly, and suddenly, it hits me, and I snap out of my daze, and I turn to share this moment, _her, _with my remaining family. "_Merlin_!" I exclaim gleefully—not giddily, let me assure you; I _am _the king, after all, and kings aren't ever _giddy_. "Merlin, I'm a _father!_"

And I realize that the midwife and Gaius had already silently slipped out for a moment to give us some privacy, and at the sound of his name, Merlin halts in the doorway, and for a moment, I'm completely confused because it looks for all the world as though he's seconds away from doing the same.

When I realize that the idiot _is _doing the same, I know that that won't do at all.

"Merlin," Guinevere calls suddenly, smiling with a mixture of disapproval and humor at his sheepish expression, and ever honest and true, she scolds, "You're _family_."

"Get your arse in here and say hello to your goddaughter," I add.

Merlin's eyes widen, and he stutters, "Wha—god—_goddaughter?_"

"You have just mastered the Crystal," I state slowly in disbelief, an undercurrent of amusement coloring my tone, "and yet you couldn't foresee this? What kind of shoddy warlock are you?"

"I'm _your _shoddy warlock, thanks," Merlin mumbles as he awkwardly shut the door and blushes deep red.

Guinevere gestures eagerly to him and laughs, "Don't be starting, you two. You'll be giving her ideas already, and besides, Reina wants to meet her Uncle Merlin."

I don't know which of us looked up from the baby first, but our gazes met, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but what each of us meant to each other. My child's godfather and uncle. My wife and I's brother.

"Here," I say softly as I hand Reina to my brother, whose eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

And after Merlin looks down into her face and mutters a blessing of the Old Religion and the New, he raises his golden blue eyes and says with a smirk, "She's going to have you wrapped around her little finger in _no time_, Arthur."

"I'll remind you of that when I see _you _submitting to her every whim."

"She's going to be so spoiled," Merlin agrees ardently, his elfin features alight with glee.

"I can't imagine Gwaine or the others'll be too keen to say no to her either," Gwen jokes, reclaiming Reina from the Court Sorcerer when she starts to fuss.

We laugh quietly, and even though she's right—the knights'll be bombarding us as soon Gaius allows more visitors, ready to greet their princess with nothing less than the utmost enthusiasm and their king and queen with congratulations—right now, I cannot be happier.

I have my wife, a daughter, a brother, and after all that happened today, after being put into a magic-induced sleep by my friend and old physician while my queen was in labor and child was being born, after seeing my Reina, holding her, after feeling the awe and beholding the beauty of it, after witnessing Guinevere's sweet smile and Merlin's bright eyes…

I realize that kings may not ever be giddy with happiness, but fathers? Fathers have every right.


	51. Breaking

AN: Wheeeee! Mass update! These are all written as continuations of #49 - Realizing!

* * *

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word DELICATE in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)  
Characters/Pairings: Gwen, Merlin  
Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)  
Word Count: 390

* * *

**Breaking**

I do not know what made me stop that day.

It is strange, perplexing even, that I would just…come to a stop. In the middle of an empty corridor, nonetheless! Morgana is ill with fever, and here I am, idling away and staring at the gray stone for no reason other than that I—

That's when I heard it, and it may have been quiet, but it _screams. _It screams and screams _hurt hurt hurt._

The sob is the most broken sound I have ever heard.

My heart pangs in sympathy, and without hesitation—for I can_not _in any good conscience leave this individual to grieve alone—Morgana's fever is pushed from my mind, as I, frowning, follow my ears and ease myself around the corner…

And my hand races to cover my mouth when I see Merlin—goofy, cheerful, sunny Merlin—stumbling to his feet and unobtrusively brushing away the tears that mark his cheeks.

"Gwen," he greets, "what're you doing here?"

Had his eyes not been red from crying, I am ashamed to say that I might have fallen for it. The only sign that his smile is a mere _attempt_ is in the tension in his jaw, the trembling in his hands, the strain in his eyes. The smile itself, in all appearances, is blinding and just as foolish and charming and lopsided as it was that day I met him in the stocks, but no…no, I know better now.

And I call myself his _friend_. How could I not see how much he was hurting? How could I not see that he was falling apart at the seams?

I ignore his question, and without a single word, I approach him, and I notice how his muscles tense as though he wishes to flee and how his eyes widen—in fear, in pain, in astonishment? I cannot say, and it _hurts_ when he flinches away from me, his smile fading, his eyes averting so that I can't see them…or read them.

I do not understand. This is _Merlin_. What has he to hide?

Somehow, I find myself fearing the answer.

I don't do anything more than wrap my arms delicately around him before he crumbles in my arms, and together we lower ourselves to the floor, and as I hold him, he shakes…

And my heart _breaks_.


	52. Promising

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word PENETRATE in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)  
Characters/Pairings: Gwen, Merlin  
Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)  
Word Count: 363

* * *

**Promising**

When Merlin tells me that Arthur must be waiting on him and tries to pull away, I do not let him, and I respond, "Damn Arthur, Merlin."

He avoids my concerned gaze in embarrassment and shame, and I ask him to _please, talk to me_ because I have since discovered that it isn't Hunith, it isn't Gaius or Arthur or any of the bullying knights, and if it isn't his mother, mentor, or best friend, I do not know _what _it can be, and whatever it is…it's tearing him up from the inside, and I don't _care _that he's tight-lipped and unwilling because something's terribly wrong. He needs someone, and I _want _to be there for him if he'd only allow me to be.

And I consider it a small victory when I tell him so and he doesn't disagree.

His mouth does open and closes multiple times before he, blushing, sighs, "Gwen, please. Just let me go. I can't—"

"Why can't you?" I interrupt gently. "Is it so wrong to reach out for help? To talk to a friend who cares for you no matter what's happened?"

"You—" Merlin chokes in a small voice. "You shouldn't make promises like that."

"It isn't a promise. It's a guarantee."

When his eyes flash to mine, the abrupt anger that blazes through them takes me aback, and despite my instinctive desire to jolt _away_, I meet his penetrating gaze steadily, unfazed.

His eyes hold me in place for what seems like hours before he finally asks in a quiet voice, a dangerous voice, "You really want to know?"

"I want you to _trust _me. I want you…to see that you're not alone. What I don't want is to see you like this."

There is a desperate edge to the fire in his eyes now, and jerking his shoulder away from my hand, he shakes his head and _chuckles_—it sounds so off, so disbelieving and pained…

Dark.

"What is _wrong_, Merlin?"

"Me." The answer is hard, short, and blunt.

"_You_? Merlin, what—?"

"Yes, me. I'm wrong, Gwen. I'm what's wrong."

The uncharacteristic fire does not die in the fresh wave of tears.


	53. Burning

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word SURRENDER in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Gwen

Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)

Word Count: 357

* * *

**Burning**

I'm scaring her. I know I am, but…it's the only way. It's the only way to show her because she seems to think it's going to be alright, because she seems to think that someone like me deserves a friend like her, because she seems to think…

She seems to think she's safe with me and that _I'm _the one who needs saving.

I can't do this, but I must. I have to.

A large part of me screams with fear—fear for my heart, my life, my friendship with them all—because if I tell her now, if I surrender my secret…

The other part—the stronger, fiery-hot part—is demanding I do so because she _promised_, and I know better. I know she won't keep her promise, her so-called _guarantee_. Not when she knows what I am.

She can't keep promises like that. She _can't_. It _hurts _too much to hear them when I know they'll be broken.

So I'll tell her on _my_ terms. I will do it to protect myself from harboring hope and guard myself from falling into a trap of dreams of acceptance and friendship that will undoubtedly never be mine, and perhaps that is selfish. Perhaps that is very, very selfish, because it shouldn't hurt anymore. But no. Not so selfish. She will _see_, and _I_won't be able to hurt her—or anyone else—anymore. The nightmare that I am will be duly punished, which is no less than what I deserve.

"Do you ever remember your dreams, Gwen?" I ask, interrupting the string of soft, comforting reassurances—_false_ reassurances; I have to remember that they are _false_—she's offering me. "Your nightmares?"

She blinks in confusion. "Do you—Merlin, are your—?"

"Please, Gwen, answer the question."

"Who doesn't remember at least some dreams?" Gwen asked in a small, unsure voice. "Or the worst of the nightmares? Those _stay _with you."

"And the worst of them?" I whisper.

Despite herself, she shudders and swallows thickly. "Fire. Burning. Ever since I was accused of being a witch. Sometimes—sometimes there are real sorcerers standing in the crowd, jeering at me with their horrid gold eyes."

The harsh truth of reality _burns_.


	54. Revealing

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word WISTFUL in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Gwen

Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)

Word Count: 393

* * *

**Revealing**

Even though I had expected it—to hear it from sweet Gwen and to _see _her fear, to see her shudder when she described a sorcerer's eyes…

My eyes.

I can't look at her.

Because when I was nine summers old, I noticed them for the first time—unnatural, alien, and _wrong_—in the creek. I remember scrambling backwards and _away _from the glowing orbs of my reflection, and in my horror and fear, my magic had retreated almost painfully, snapping back like a cruel whip.

The apple I was playing with hadn't even stopped moving by the time I stumbled to my feet and began to run, and while I can't remember where I ran or how far I went before I tripped and curled up on the forest floor, I do remember being unable to breathe, being unable to discern one frantic thought from the other, being unable to stop the tears from escaping those damned, monstrous eyes…

When Mother found me, she knelt by my side, murmuring and rubbing my back as I sobbed…

_ Why didn't you _tell_ me?_

_Tell you what, my boy?_

_How could I not know?_

_Merlin, what's—?_

_They…they _change_, Mother._

She knew immediately what I was referring to and was unsurprised, and I remember her taking me into her arms and telling me that all those with magic possessed such a quality and that she never told me because it was so natural for someone like me and that, no, it _never once _bothered her. She told me that my eyes, gold or blue, were beautiful. It didn't matter that they could blaze like flames because they were _mine_. Not a monster's, as I had led myself to believe while lying on the cold forest floor.

Even so, ever since that day, I still find myself unnerved by how my eyes morph because no matter what Mother or Gaius says, they label me, and they will _always_label me as a _sorcerer_.

"You're lucky," I finally say.

"_What_?"

"Someone else might wish that they could have nightmares like that," I say as a strangely wistful smile touches the corners of my mouth.

"I—I don't understand."

I take a deep breath and, to my surprise, I find myself unable to care anymore. "Don't you?"

The floodgates burst, my magic pours…and my eyes—they reveal me.


	55. Shifting

Prompt: Write a drabble with the word LUMINOUS in it (and for the peeps who asked for a continuation of #49)

Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Gwen

Ratings/Warnings: K+, continuation of 'Realizing' (#49)

Word Count: 357

* * *

**Shifting**

When she gasps, flings her hands to her mouth, and unconsciously shifts away from me, instead of feeling terrified, I feel an almost vicious thrill of victory. I was _right_. She knows now; she _understands _now, and of course she wants to put some distance between the sorcerer, his _evil_,and his sins, which now lie naked before her in the form of his telltale luminous eyes—eyes that have stalked far too many innocents into the sanctuary of sleep and have been the last thing far too many Camelotian soldiers and citizens have seen before…

Nothing.

I am so _tired_, and the magic, restless and unhappy, is reigned in as I close my eyes and slouch against the wall. Even behind closed lids, I feel her stare of denial and disbelief on me, and I chuckle humorlessly, darkly, "You see, Gwen? I am what's wrong. In my nightmares, I burn too, but it's never sorcerers jeering in the crowd, and it's never a false accusation that lands me on the pyre. No. Because I _am_ one of them and have been one of them all my life…and for all those on both sides who have died in this war, for all that I didn't do to help prevent more death and fear, for the curse I posses and the lies I've told, is it not truly deserved?"

"_No_."

My eyes fly open to find her glaring at me indignantly, and combined with her puckered brow and tight jaw, the fury in her eyes finally places a seed of poisonous dread deep in my belly, where it festers and spreads…

I'm expecting her to yell at me—to slap me, even—so I cannot contain a flinch when she lunges forward.

And I cannot believe it when her arms wrap around me again.

Slowly, I blink and unconsciously hug her back, and the hope, the faith, the dream I had pushed away in the attempt to protect myself from disappointment, from failure, from pain…

"_Never, _Merlin. Do you hear me?" she whispers into my shoulder, squeezing me tighter. "_Never think that_."

Light begins to creep back into the world again.


End file.
